


Where Everybody Knows Your Name

by kittyandmulder, romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyandmulder/pseuds/kittyandmulder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Bucky Barnes came back from the war short one arm and pissed off about it. His luck went downhill from there, and now he's listening to Clint, of all people, for life advice. He sends him to a bar that only hires vets and, despite a rough start, Bucky ends up working for Steve Rogers. Which he regrets instantly.Things get better. Bucky gets better. Steve's still an asshole, but maybe that's not so bad.





	Where Everybody Knows Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot tell you enough how _amazing_ it was working with Kitty and Mulder. They made me not one, not two, but SIX pictures for this, and they are all fantastic. They captured some key points of the story, and I cannot love them (the pictures and my fabulous artists) enough. The pictures are interspersed through the story, but links to the individual pictures are at the end. 
> 
> Tell them how incredible they are. No, seriously. And even if you don't read the fic, look at the pictures. Because they are GREAT.
> 
> And, as always, special thanks to Maureti for the beta.

Bucky looks around the bar, sizing the place up. It’s more like an Irish pub than a sports bar; dark wood and warm lighting. There’s not a mirror behind the bar, but there’s some sort of lighting behind the bottles of alcohol so they cast colored shafts of light onto the walls.

There’s a brick shithouse of a man behind the counter, his back to the door as he marks something down on a clipboard. “You Rogers?”

“Nope.”

Bucky waits, tapping his foot on the floor, expecting the guy to acknowledge him. He doesn’t, apparently deciding his answer was the end of the conversation. Another guy comes out of the back, this one with a slighter build, but no less impressive.

“Are you Rogers?”

He actually gives Bucky a once-over before grinning. “Nope.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What d’you need him for?”

“Clint told me to come here and talk to the guy.”

“Clint tell you to mention that first thing?”

“I just wanted to know if I was already talking to him.”

“I’m gonna guess Clint said you should come in and tell whoever was here that he sent you to talk to Rogers.”

“Fine. Yes. Clint sent me.” Bucky huffs. “What the fuck.”

“Steve has a habit of confronting people. Bullies. We like to keep bloodshed out of the bar when they come looking.”

“Seriously? Clint told me Rogers could take care of himself.”

“Don’t recall saying he couldn't.”

“So why does he need you guys playing bodyguard?”

“You know, I’m not sure you’re gonna fit in here.” The guy smiled, slightly gap-toothed, but it wasn’t particularly friendly. “Might not want to waste Steve’s time.”

“Excuse me?” Bucky inhales, chest expanding as he fights down his anger. 

“Just get the feeling you aren’t really cut out for this place.”

“Why? Because I’ve got one arm?” Bucky notices the guy’s eyes go from right to left, like he’s just noticed Bucky even _has_ arms. “How about you let Rogers decide.”

The guy looks at the other one and shrugs. Turning back to Bucky, he gives him a shrug as well. “Okay.”

He disappears at the far end of the bar, jogging up a set of stairs. Bucky leans on the bar, tapping his fingers.

“Be happy to break those for you,” the guy still behind the bar doing the inventory tells him. Bucky stops, because even with his calm demeanor, the guy seems like he’d be happy to do it. “You know, Clint might have been wrong this time. Like he said. Not sure you fit in.”

“From what I understand, it’s Rogers’s bar. If he tells me the same, then I go.”

“It is my bar.”

Bucky looks in the direction of the voice, blinks twice, and barks out a laugh. “Sure. You’re Rogers. Right.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Clint said Rogers was a force to be reckoned with, strongest guy he ever met.” Bucky gestures to Steve, all five feet, four inches and maybe one hundred twenty pounds of him. “So let’s cut the bulllshit. You’ve all had your fun.”

The blond smiles sharply, a match for his equally sharp cheekbones. The guy who had gone upstairs to get Rogers snickers, badly hiding it behind the hand covering his mouth. “Wow, Steve. You paying Clint for advertising now?”

“You’re Barnes, I take it.” The blond, who apparently plans to play this out, leans on the bar. “Clint said you hate wearing the prosthetic. You trying to make a good impression?”

Bucky’s mouth drawls into a thin line. “Excuse me?”

“Clint asked if I’d have a problem with you not wearing it.”

“This stopped being funny a while ago, and now you’re down right pissing me off. Clint told _Rogers_ about that, and if he’s the kind of asshole that shares that with someone for a joke, he can kiss --”

Bucky cuts off as the blond pulls out his wallet and holds his ID where Bucky can see it. “Steve Rogers is absolutely an asshole. But not for the reasons you’re accusing me of.”

Bucky drops his head back and stares at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

“This is Sam,” Steve says as he points to the guy who had gotten Steve from upstairs. “This is Luke.”

Bucky clears his throat. “James Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you. Now, why don’t you come upstairs so we can talk.”

“You mind if I text Clint first and threaten his life?”

Steve shrugs. “Sure. I’ll wait.”

Bucky informs Clint of his newly shortened life expectancy, then glances at Steve. His expression doesn’t give anything away, but Bucky’s pretty sure the guy understandably doesn’t like him.

Up the stairs is a small office with a desk and two chairs. There’s an open door that looks like it leads to a bedroom. Steve walks over and closes the door before gesturing to one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”

Bucky sits, surprised when Steve turns the chair next to him and joins him rather than going behind the desk. Steve looks at him and nods. “Two tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq. Honorable discharge for disability. Known Clint since high school. Likes cats. Tolerates dogs. You don’t want this job. You don’t want to deal with the world or people, but you feel like shit because you think you’re freeloading off of Clint, even though you’re paying him rent. You hate your prosthetic and almost always refuse to wear it, which is why you’re not doing janitorial work.”

“Clint needs to learn to keep his goddamn mouth closed.”

“He just mentioned where you did your tours. Didn’t need him to tell me the rest.”

Bucky’s laugh is dark and angry. “Let me guess, you only hire veterans because you couldn’t make it in the service. You get your secondhand thrills out of their war stories. You think you know what war is like because you’ve read a bunch of history books and jerked off to M*A*S*H* reruns.”

Steve eyebrows have risen and they’re barely visible under his floppy blond bangs. “Wow. That was vitriolic.” He has something somewhere between a smile and a smirk curving his lips. “You done?” He doesn’t wait for Bucky to respond. “You’re right. I couldn’t get into the service. But I did work for a think tank on warfare tactics and spent several years in country. And the only reason I jerked off to M*A*S*H* is because Alan Alda was good looking.”

Bucky rubs his hand over his mouth and sighs. He’s about to stand up when Steve clears his throat.

“So. When do you want to start?”

“What?”

“When do you want to start working?”

“You’re hiring me?”

“Unless you have a problem with that.”

“But why? All I’ve done is insult you.”

“I trust Clint’s judgement. The job’s been yours since he asked.”

“There is something seriously wrong with you.”

“You’re not the first to tell me that.” Steve smiles brightly. “And you’re not wrong.”

**

Bucky’s first shift is two days later. He’s working with Luke who is just as friendly as he’d been the first time they met, which is to say not at all. He asks Bucky how much he knows about bartending, and Bucky tells him he knows how to read a recipe book.

“Okay, Rogers’ll get you some training. For now you can pull beers.”

“What’s his deal?”

“He’s the boss. That’s all you need to know.” Luke walks down to the end of the bar where the only two customers are sitting. Bucky pulls the rack of glasses from the undercounter dishwasher, sliding it onto a cart so he can wheel it over to the glasses station to unload it.

He has to give Steve credit. He’s done a lot to accommodate Bucky’s lack of an arm, even on such short notice. Bucky hasn’t seen Steve, which is fine with him. He’s fairly certain their animosity -- or at least Bucky’s -- makes it best if they keep their distance.

He pulls beers for Luke as the day goes on, getting a lesson in head. Which is what Clint calls it when he comes in mid-lesson. He giggles like a twelve-year-old. Bucky hasn’t talked to him since he got the job, their only communication being the middle finger emoji Bucky had sent on his way home from the bar.

“Hey, I just think it’s really great that you’re learning about giving head. Or is it just a refresher course?”

Bucky ignores him, instead turning to Luke. “Can I kick him out?”

“He’s like herpes,” Luke says, no inflection at all. “No matter what we do to get rid of him, he keeps showing up.”

“Ruining things when you want to get laid.” Steve’s smiling, and Clint looks both offended and betrayed by the comment. Bucky starts slightly at Steve’s voice. 

“I have never cock-blocked you.”

“Do you need to?”

The whole bar goes silent and it takes Bucky a second to realize what he said. Steve’s smile is tight before it slips into something self-deprecating. “Fair point.”

“I…”

Steve cuts Bucky off. “I’m heading out, Luke. You need anything before I go?”

Luke shakes his head. “I’m good boss. Unless you’re going by Trish’s bakery. Could use some cupcakes.”

“If I can get there before she closes. Otherwise we’ll make a run tomorrow. Night. Night, Clint. Bucky.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Um. Night.”

As soon as Steve’s out the door, Clint rises off the barstool and smacks Bucky upside the head. “What the fuck was that, Barnes?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Not exactly sure how the fuck else you could have meant it.”

The look Luke gives Bucky is straight-up dislike. “You’ve been through shit, I get it. We’ve all been through shit. That’s part of why he hired you. But bartenders live off tips, and I can guarantee you you’re not making any you keep insulting Rogers. No tips, and you sure as hell won’t make any friends.”

“Right.” Bucky nods and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m gonna load the washing machine.”

If what Luke gives him is supposed to be a smile, it fails on a grand scale. “Good idea.”

Bucky goes to the back, his shoulders tense. He wheels the basket of dirty towels to the washer and loads it. 

“Dude.” Clint comes in and levers himself up on the small counter besides the machine. “What the fuck? You trying to get fired?”

“No. I just.. l. I don’t know. Something about Rogers just puts my back up. Pisses me off.”

“Steve has that effect sometimes. Doesn’t mean you have to be a dick to him.”

“I know.”

“You want to bitch about him being your boss, that’s one thing. You want someone giving you shit about how often you’ve been getting laid since you got back?”

“No. Look. I’ll apologize. Next time I see him.”

“You have to work with these people.”

Bucky sighs, exasperated. “I know.”

“So stop being a fucking dick.” Clint hops down as Bucky starts the machine.

“I’ll apologize then I’ll stay away from the guy. When’s he usually around? I’ll get a different shift.”

“It’s his bar. He’s always around. Except for Thursdays.”

“So I’ll work Thursdays.”

“You’re going to need to be here more than one day a week if you want to eat.”

“Why? My landlord gonna raise my rent?”

“Depends. Are you going to stop being a dick to his friends?”

Bucky nods and follows Clint out of the back. He gives Luke a quick nod, but they don’t talk to each other except for Luke telling him to draw beer, hand him glasses or bottles, or restock the mini-fridge.

Luke announces last call and Bucky glances at the clock. He hadn’t realized what time it was. He looks over to where Clint’s running the pool table and shakes his head.

“People still play pool with him? They know he was a sniper, right?”

“They don’t play for money. They’re just all convinced they can beat him some day, so it’s bragging rights.”

“They think they can beat him?”

“Get ‘em drunk enough, they’ll believe anything.” Luke wipes the counter. “Rogers only lets him fleece new people who are assholes.”

“That happen a lot?” Bucky asks as he closes the undercounter dishwasher and starts it running.

“Sometimes. Most of the people that end up here need to be here. But sometimes people hear about Steve. Come looking for him.”

“Why?” Luke gives Bucky a look and he holds up his hands. “I just mean you say it like he’s got some sort of reputation.”

“He does. You’ll see. Probably sooner than later. I’m gonna usher these guys out. Load up the trays and I’ll grab them while you wipe the tables. You can stack the chairs and I’ll sweep.”

“Okay.” Bucky starts on the tables, loading trays with glasses. Some of the people say goodbye to him as they leave, some wave. Clint sits on one of the bar stools and spins in a circle. 

“They like you.”

“Why would they like me?”

“Because Steve hired you.”

“Which I still don’t understand.”

“Don’t question good fortune, young padawan.”

“Clint.” Luke points toward the door. “Out.”

“But Luuuuuuuuke.” Luke crosses his arms over his considerable chest and Clint sighs. “Steve would let me stay.”

“No he wouldn’t.”

Clint pouts, then sighs. “Fine. No. He wouldn’t.”

**

Bucky learns the bar quickly with both Sam and Luke showing him the ropes. One of Steve’s other friends comes in and gives Bucky a quick lesson in mixed drinks. Matt informs Bucky that if he can do it blind, then Bucky can do it one-handed.

He’s been there a month and has only seen Steve a handful of times, mostly coming or going. Bucky’s glad, because the less they interact, the less likely Bucky will be to say something stupid, and fuck up what’s shaping up to be a good thing.

In fact, he hasn't seen Steve for two weeks when he goes outside the bar into the alley to dump the trash. He hears the sound of a fight and, since he knows Sam had tossed out two assholes who were harassing a few of the girls at the bar ten minutes ago, Bucky heads in that direction, hoping they weren’t assaulting any of their customers.

It is the guys Sam had tossed. They’re near the front of the alley, and one of them has someone pinned to the wall, punching him repeatedly in the gut and face, alternating between the two. The second guy is egging him on.

“That’s it, Tom. Fucking faggot. Teach you to hit on a real man.”

“So,” the guys voice is breathless and he spits out what might be blood. Bucky can’t see his face in the dim light, but the voice makes it clear that it’s Steve. “I could definitely hit on you then.”

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters under his breath as the guy holding Steve off the ground causes Steve to make a choked noise by tightening his fingers.

“Gonna fucking kill you.”

“Careful, Tom. Don’t get his blood on you. Faggot’s probably got AIDS.”

“Wow. Ugly and ignorant.” Bucky grabs the guy holding Steve by the shoulder and jerks him back. It takes him a moment to release Steve, so Steve goes down onto his knees as the guy hits his back. Bucky kicks him in the ribs to keep him down. The other guy takes off, obviously not realizing Bucky’s only got one arm.

Bucky glances at Steve, reaching out to help him to his feet. Steve ignores him, getting up on his own. “Go have Sam call the cops.”

Bucky stares at him. “And a fucking ambulance. You need to get looked at.”

“Just do it.”

Bucky glares at him as Steve spits out what is definitely blood. Turning on his heel, he mutters loud enough that he knows Steve can hear him. “Thanks, Bucky. Appreciate your help, since I was getting my ass kicked.”

He storms into the bar. Sam takes one look at him and sighs. “Steve?”

“You know the guys you kicked out?”

“Fuck.” Sam picks up the phone and calls the cops. He hangs up and Bucky grabs the phone again and hands it to him. “He needs an ambulance.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve met Steve and he’ll disappear before he lets an ambulance get near him. You’d better go out in the alley and wait for the cops.”

Bucky walks back out. The guy is still laid out on the ground, but Steve’s nowhere in sight. He hears a sound off to his left and glances over. Steve’s making his slow and obviously painful way up a set of stairs to what must be his apartment over the bar. 

He watches him until the door closes. The guy on the ground groans and Bucky kicks him in the ribs again before squatting down beside him. “I’m sure your buddies are gonna be real impressed that you got your ass kicked by a guy with one arm. I mean, that’s just fucking embarrassing.”

“Fuck you.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough. Never gonna be that desperate.”

The flashing lights of the police car paint the alleyway. Bucky straightens up as the cops come over. One of them looks down at the guy and the other looks directly at Bucky. “Where’s Rogers?”

“What?”

“Very funny. You work at the bar, so you know the drill. Where is he?”

“I’ve only worked for the guy for a little while. I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Hey!” The officer helps the guy off the ground, hand on his arm keeping him from lunging toward Bucky. “That asshole beat the shit out of me.”

Bucky holds up his hand as well as his stump. “How?”

“You had that little faggot distract me.”

“How’d he do that?” The cop next to Bucky asked.

“What?”

“How’d he distract you?”

“He’s a fucking twink. How do you think?”

“Are you accusing him of sexual assault?”

“What! No! No fucking twink could…”

“Well, you did have him pinned to the wall. Oh, shit.” Bucky winces, looking apologetically at the police officers. “Oh, shit. Did I interrupt your date? Aw, man.”

“Fuck you! Shut the fuck up! I was showing that little asslicker not to fuck with me!”

Bucky shrugs. “Now that I think about it, you were awfully close. Pressed up against him.”

“I’m not a fucking deviant, asshole! I was putting him in his place.”

“What place is that?” The other officer asks.

“Need to cleanse the world of ‘em. Leave ‘em broken and bleeding, so they'll quit turning normal people into --”

“He had a friend with him,” Bucky tells the nearest cop. “I think maybe they have some unresolved feelings for each other.”

The guy lunges toward Bucky. “Fucking kill you and your pansy-ass boyfriend. Make you feel more like a man to fuck someone you could put in a dress and pass off as a chick? Little fucking fairy.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Do you need me anymore, officers? I should really go back to work.”

“Go on. And tell Rogers he needs to be careful.”

“I haven’t worked here that long, but I’m pretty sure I could tell Rogers anything I wanted, but the odds of him listening to me are pretty much nil.”

Both cops roll their eyes, and Bucky knows it’s in agreement. He heads back into the bar, stopping briefly in the back to catch his breath. His training keeps him calm in a crisis, but now that the initial adrenaline rush is gone, he has to push down all the actual anger he’d like to unleash on that asshole and his friend. 

He walks back behind the counter and Sam looks at him and shrugs. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just moves to the other end of the bar and starts taking orders. Once the bar closes, Bucky starts his cleanup, glaring at Sam who’s at the bar counting out the deposit. Finally Bucky gets tired of waiting.

“Is anyone going to check on him?”

Sam doesn’t look up, doesn’t stop thumbing through bills. “Nope.”

“He got the shit beaten out of him. He was spitting up blood.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do. He needs to go to the hospital.”

“He won’t.”

“It was two guys my size. And, incase you haven’t noticed, Rogers is five foot fuck-all.”

Sam sighs. “Look, I get your concern. I do. But this is Steve. He stands up for the shit he believes in, does the right thing even if it means getting the shit kicked out of him. And no amount of telling him to stop or reminding him of his size is going to change that. Showing concern for him is just going to piss him off.”

“He’s going to get himself killed.”

“You think we haven't told him that? He’s got me, Luke, Clint, Nat, and now you. He doesn’t want someone else to fight his battles.”

“They’re not his battles!”

“What Steve fights for? Man, those are everyone’s battles.”

**

When Bucky sees Steve three days later, he’s got two black eyes, a broken nose, and his T-shirt doesn’t hide the finger marks on his throat. He gives Bucky a defiant look as he moves past him and into the back stockroom.

Bucky follows him and leans on the doorjamb. “So do you like getting beaten up? I mean, is pain your thing?”

“Pretty sure you have work to do.”

“Is it some compensation bullshit?” Steve ignores him and Bucky crosses his arm over his chest. “If it’s the pain thing, I mean, there are people who do that shit professionally.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Bucky snorts. “If I hadn’t come over there, they’d have ground you to dust.”

“I didn’t need your help, and I sure as fuck didn’t ask for it. Your job is the bar. Just worry about doing that.”

“Right. Sure thing, big man.”

Steve’s eyes narrow and, for a second, Bucky sees the fire flash in his eyes. “Get out to the bar. That’s what I hired you for. If you have a problem with that, you just let me know any time.”

Bucky’s smile is more of a sneer, and he walks into the bar from the stockroom. He grabs the checklist to start doing inventory, which Luke had been more than happy to give up. It’s easy, quiet, and methodical, which is normally just what he needs. Sometimes it gives him too much time to think, but thankfully he hasn’t wandered into the wrong kind of thoughts.

Owner aside, Bucky likes working at the bar, and avoiding Steve isn’t hard. By the time he leaves the stockroom, Bucky’s finished his inventory and hung the clipboard back on the hook for Steve to take to do his order, and has moved to restocking the glasses so he can keep busy and ignore Steve as he walks by. He goes into the stockroom and fills the cart with what he needs to replenish the front supply.

He’s just walking into bar when Sam comes in. He looks around appreciatively until he notices the clipboard’s gone. “Rogers was here?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me you and he didn’t get into it.”

“We talked.”

“Fuck.” Sam shakes his head. “I’m positive I told you not to do that.”

“A guy should know when he’s a fucking idiot. He was getting punched in the _face_ and the guy was _choking_ him.”

“What d’you want? A thank you? Because you’re not going to get it. Look, he fights for the same reason he gives fucked-up veterans jobs. Because some people need help.”

“But no one can help him and his Napoleon complex.”

“Ain’t my business to tell you.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t have to tell me anything. I’ve got him all figured out.”

**

The next time Bucky sees Steve, he’s got a gash above his eyebrow, a dark red scrape down the side of his face, and has an arm wrapped around his waist in a sure sign of bruised or broken ribs. 

“Whose honor were you defending this time, Sir Galahad?”

Steve glares at him, but doesn’t say anything. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, and Bucky can see how much the breath he takes costs him.

“No, seriously. Did someone kick a puppy? Litter? Not help a little old lady across the street?” Steve ignores him, managing two steps before he has to stop and breathe again. “Wait, no. I’ve got it. Stole candy from a baby.”

Steve turns and looks at him. “You think you’re the worst I’ve seen? Yeah, you lost your arm and came home to a shit deal. You want me to fire you? No one’s stopping you from walking out the door. You have a problem with me? Go to Sam or Luke if you need something. I’m not interested in taking shit from you.”

“Not a single fucking person needs the help of someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” Steve’s voice is cool and flat. “Which part of me? Short? Skinny? Multiple medical problems? Bisexual? Trust me, I’ve heard it all.” He winces then, the words obviously hurting. “How about I do all your shit for you. Anything you might need two hands for. Maybe you want me to wipe your ass for you? You want that, Barnes? You want me to tell you you're not good enough? Not man enough? You want that?” He’s breathing hard, wheezing slightly. He fishes an inhaler out of his pocket and doses himself. Once his breathing’s evened out, he stares at Bucky defiantly. “We done?”

“You want me to quit?”

“I want you to mind your own business.”

Bucky nods sharply and turns back to the bar. Steve climbs the stairs, shoes loud and breath louder. As soon as the steps stop, Bucky drops his head on the bar a couple of times before pulling out his phone to text Clint.

_how do you say sorry to rogers?_

_Do i want 2 no what u did?_

_Probably not_

_He runs hot. Give him time 2 cool down_

_I think i should quit_

_Do u want 2_

_No_

_Then dont_

_He hates me_

_Lots of people hate u_

_I hate you_

_So we’re even_

Bucky laughs and tucks his phone away. He’s glad for the swipe feature, since it actually makes texting a viable option for him.

Sam comes in from the back carrying a keg. “Hey, Rogers here?”

“Most of him.”

Sam just sighs. “Sometimes I swear that boy likes getting punched.”

**

Six months go by and Bucky’s handling the bar by himself sometimes. He’s hung out with Luke and Sam outside of the bar and, even better, he’s managed to stay away from Steve. He does well until two weeks before Thanksgiving when he actually has to knock on the door to the office. He’s been putting it off, but time is running out.

“It’s open.”

Bucky walks in and stops. Steve’s face is a mess of bruising. He’s got a split lip and stitches on his temple. Bucky opens his mouth, then closes it. Steve’s got one eyebrow raised expectantly, but when Bucky doesn’t say anything, he relaxes and settles back in his chair.

“What’s up?”

Bucky clears his throat and tries to get his thoughts back on track, because he’s suddenly struck by Steve’s sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and how blue his eyes are. All of it seems highlighted by the bruises, and Bucky has no idea what’s suddenly wrong with him.

“Barnes?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Bucky shakes his head to clear it. “It’s about the holidays.”

“You don’t have to worry about the holidays. I’m surprised the guys didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what? You don’t close, do you?”

“Reduced hours. Start late the night of Thanksgiving. Close early on Christmas Eve and open early Christmas day.”

“So how are you delegating shifts?”

“I’m not. You guys have the days off.”

“Who runs the bar?”

“I do.”

“But what about your family?”

The smile Steve had on his face disappears, leaving something sad and painful. “Don’t have one.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Been a long time. It’s fine. Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”

“I wasn’t feeling sorry for you. It’s called sympathy.” Bucky blows out a breath. “How do you actually manage to stand with a chip that size on your shoulder?”

Steve’s hands clenched into fists, but he lets out a breath slowly and relaxes. “My turn to apologize.”

“Well, I’m free for Christmas Eve and Christmas if you want help.” He shrugs. “Jewish.”

“You think the two of us could survive an evening of working together?”

“Survive? Yes. Beyond that? I’m not placing any bets.”

Steve actually smiles and, fuck. Bucky’s never seen that smile, never seen Steve’s face light up. Bucky frowns and looks down at his hands.

“I assumed you meant Thanksgiving and Christmas. Were you asking about New Year’s?”

“New Year’s has to be a huge night for you.”

“Yeah, well. Luke and Sam both have significant others, so I let them off about nine.”

“But what about the rest of the night?”

“I get by. Anyway, the best I can do is let you off at nine.”

“What about you? Your boyfriend or girlfriend just hang out here too?”

Steve blinks several times then laughs, even though it’s obviously not amusing. “Funny.”

“I… I wasn’t trying to be?”

“I don’t have a partner. You were right when you first started. I don’t need Clint or anyone else to cockblock me. I do just fine on my own.”

“Shit. I wasn’t…”

“It’s fine.” Steve waves it off. “Pretty much resigned to my fate. Anyway, Luke and Sam are going to our friend Tony’s party. I’m sure you and your person can tag along.”

“I’m not seeing anyone. I mean, if you want help that night.”

“It’s mostly regulars. You’re not going to find someone to kiss at midnight working here.”

“I don’t know. Old Man Becker’s pretty hot.”

Steve laughs, then winces, touching his stitches. “Careful. He just might take you up on that.”

Bucky wonders who did the stitching, since it’s been made extremely clear that Rogers won’t go to a hospital. “So what do you do on Thanksgiving?”

“I have stuff on Thursdays.” He shrugs. “But mostly I just hang out here and read a book or watch a movie.”

“Wow. That’s kinda pathetic.”

“Thanks.”

“Clint and I eat cold pizza and watch the parade in the morning.”

“I’m sorry. Is that somehow _less_ pathetic?”

“We mock very large balloons and people in creepy costumes.”

“And how does pizza manage to survive around Clint long enough to get cold?”

“I’m inviting you over. I’m thinking maybe you didn’t notice.”

“And I don’t know if you noticed that you don’t like me.”

“I don’t _not_ like you.” Steve gives Bucky a look, and he shrugs. “I mean, we could maybe not be actively hostile. We’ve had this conversation without insults, name calling, or shouting, right?”

“For the most part.”

“And we need practice for New Year’s Eve. So you should come over.”

“Maybe.”

“Or yes.”

“Maybe.”

Bucky’s not sure why he’s suddenly so determined for Steve to be there. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t like to see anyone lonely, but he’s not sure he believes his own lies. “Great. We’ll see you there.”

**

Bucky wonders daily why he’s being so insistent about Steve coming to Thanksgiving, mentioning it to him again and again. Steve’s right. They don’t particularly get along. Maybe it had been resignation in Steve’s eyes. Maybe it _was_ him feeling sorry for Steve.

Or maybe it’s the fact that he keeps looking at Steve and getting caught up on the parts of him that seem to get lost in the whole.

“He’s not coming,” Clint says around the pizza slice he’s about to stuff in his mouth. “Steve doesn’t do shit like this. Hasn’t since his mom got sick. Refuses to really get close to people.” He lifts the slice and chews his way up a string of cheese.

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want to get hurt. Mom got sick, Peggy went out to LA for her job, his mom died. A year of his life was a country song.”

“Who’s Peggy?”

“Ex. Everyone thought they were going to get married. Instead she got an offer she couldn’t really refuse and Steve wouldn’t give her a reason to stay.”

“She left him while his mom was dying?”

“Don’t.” Clint gives Bucky a sharp look, completely serious. “Don’t you dare pity him.”

“I don’t! I’m not!”

“Good.” Clint grabs another slide of pizza. “He’s not coming.”

**

Bucky comes in the day after Thanksgiving and puts a plastic bag down in front of Steve on his desk. Steve looks from the bag to Bucky. Twice. “What’s this?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“No. That was yesterday. And it doesn’t come in a bag.”

“Thanksgiving dinner leftovers. Even Clint and I can’t actually get through the amount of food my mom made me bring home. So eat up.”

Steve looks like he’s about to say something, so Bucky raises his eyebrows. Daring him. Steve’s lips quirk and he nods. “Thank you.”

“And even if you’re a heathen and don’t like it or throw it all away out of spite or whatever, I’m telling my mom you loved it, and you’ll end up with more next year.” He holds up a finger to keep Steve silent. “For the record, my mom is _very_ serious about her containers.”

“Understood.”

Bucky leans in. “There’s also some cold pizza in there. Don’t tell Clint.”

“I’m okay, you know. You don’t have to do this. I don’t need…”

“I know you don’t.”

“I don’t like owing people.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Except the containers, because I value my life.”

There’s a long silence, Steve staring down at the bag. Bucky can see the furrow in his brow, but he waits. Finally Steve looks up and nods. “Sweet potatoes?”

Bucky looks affronted. “Of _course_. What do you take us for.”

Steve takes a deep breath, and Bucky wonders how much it costs him. “Thank you.”

“Go put it in the fridge. I’ll go open the bar.”

**

Steve doesn’t give them gifts, but he does give them all a bonus. Sam decorates the bar, calling Steve a Scrooge. Luke keeps putting a Santa hat on Steve’s head, and Steve says he’ll wear it when the rest of them wear elf ears.

Sam never met a dare he didn’t like, so they all wear ridiculous ears and Steve grumbles the entire time with the floppy hat on, and the white poof at the end of it constantly smacks him in the head.

There’s been an influx of women in the bar, most likely from Sam’s ad campaign that he cooked up with Natasha, who double checks Steve’s books. Posters of Bucky, Sam, and Luke are plastered all over the neighborhood, promising that, even though it doesn’t have a great location, the bar’s got an excellent view.

Steve had objected, but Natasha and Sam had done it anyway, boosting the bar’s patronage and clientele. Bucky’s working more shifts and, since Steve’s been working more, he’s free of bruises, cuts, busted lips, and black eyes.

“You know,” Bucky leans across the bar as he pushes a tray of drinks toward Steve. “Santa’s supposed to be _jolly_.”

Steve leans in as well. “Santa can suck my dick.”

“Does that make you naughty or nice?”

“I could fire every single one of you.”

“Yeah. But you won’t. You love us. Now go away. I’ve got drinks to make or my boss is going to get on my ass.” He laughs as Steve flips him off, moving over to take the next order.

Everyone’s in good spirits, blowing off the last bit of the week and gearing up for Christmas Eve the next day. Bucky places a glass over the shaker and mixes Natasha’s drink for her. She looks out over the crowded bar. 

He pours the drink out, drops in a garnish and presents it to her. “As requested.” Bucky likes Natasha. She’s sharp, to the point, and takes shit from no one. He’s thought about asking her out, but something always stops him -- either the vibe she gives off or the fact that Bucky’s attention keeps wandering to Steve without his permission.

“Where’s Luke?”

Bucky shakes his head to clear it, then nods toward the back. “Dinner break.”

“Hm. You see the guy over there in the gray shirt?” Bucky nods. Natasha slips off her stool. “Keep an eye on him.”

Bucky shrugs as she goes around the bar into the back. The guy looks harmless enough, even though he’s fairly buff. He’s keeping to himself and he’s drinking, not just taking up space at the table.

Bucky starts fixing drinks for a table when he hears Sam curse. Bucky looks around and then frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’s here.”

“Okay. Let’s pretend that I haven’t been here since conception. Who’s Don?”

 

The guy in the gray shirt is standing up now, leaning against the table and talking to Steve. Sam points at him. “That’s Don.”

“Okay. And?”

“Well, the last time Steve saw Don they were breaking up.”

“Oh? Clint said Steve doesn’t get close to people.”

“He doesn’t. Don didn’t really get that. Kept hanging around, trying to convince Steve to give them a real shot.”

“Didn’t take no for an answer?”

“Eventually Steve said yes,” Sam shrugs and Bucky wonders if the yes was related at all to the brief history on Steve that Clint had given him.

Bucky hums under his breath. Don’s got broad shoulders, but the rest of him is slim but solid. Bucky lets his gaze run over Don’s sandy blond hair. He looks like a surfer. “That Steve’s type?”

“Clueless?”

“No. That…” Bucky gestures at Don. “Type.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “He’s equal opportunity. You got a problem with that?”

“No. Steve told me he’s bisexual. Just doesn’t seem like that’d be the kind of guy he’d go for.”

“Steve’s taste in women is fucking impeccable. His taste in men is pretty much big, dumb, half-asshole. Every single one I’ve met has thought he had Steve all figured out. And every single one of them was wrong.” 

Bucky’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the look Sam shoots his way. “So we’re worried about Don? Thinking he’s forgotten that Steve obviously said no again?”

“I’m not sure.” As they both watch, Don looks at the door as it opens and smiles. A woman walks in and up to his table, slipping under his arm. Don’s obviously introducing her to Steve and Steve’s smiling, though it doesn’t reach his eyes at all. After a minute the three of them walk over to the bar. Sam doesn’t even bother to look busy. “Hey, Stevie. What’s up?” 

“Sam. You remember Don.”

“Huh. I guess. Must not have left much of an impression. Or maybe I’m just getting him confused with Jason. Or Dave.”

“Don’t be a dick, Sam. Bucky, this is Don. And this is Alicia. His fiancée. Give ‘em a drink on the house, would you?”

“Yeah. Of course, boss.”

Steve nods. “Thanks. Congratulations again, Don. Alicia.” He turns and walks away, heading up the stairs to the office. Bucky gets Don and Alicia’s orders and makes the drinks before tossing his towel at Sam. 

“I’m gonna go check on him.”

“He’s not going to appreciate that.”

“Yeah, well. Not sure I can live with myself if I don’t.”

“It’s your head, man.”

Bucky shrugs and heads up the stairs. The office is empty, but the door to the bedroom is open. Bucky moves to the door jamb and knocks on the door. “Hey.”

Steve’s glaring at his closet. “Did you need something, Barnes?”

“No. Thought you might need someone to talk to.”

Steve turns slowly, and Bucky’s pretty sure the ice in Steve’s eyes could freeze the blood in his veins. “No. I don’t.”

“I mean, I know it’s got to be tough to find out an ex is getting married.”

Steve tilts his head and walks toward Bucky. Strides toward him. Prowls. “You don’t know anything about me. Maybe you think you do. Maybe you think that you give me a few leftovers and we’re best buddies. But you don’t know shit, so why don’t you go back to work.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re like a fucking porcupine. What? No one can get close to you unless they’re willing to let you skewer them first?”

“Get back to work.”

Bucky smirks, his laugh mocking. “Sure thing. Have fun pouting.” He turns on his heel and heads downstairs. He hears Steve’s door slam shut and he almost stops to turn around and yell at Steve to grow up but he keeps going. 

Sam, Luke, and Natasha are at the bar when he comes back down. They all look at him, and he shrugs. He grabs his towel from Sam and heads to the other side of the bar to ask someone what they want to drink.

**

Bucky comes in late the next day, even though he’s not sure if Steve’s going to want him to stay and help out. He frowns when he gets there and the front door’s locked, so he goes around to the back and lets himself in. 

Luke and Sam are nowhere to be found, and Bucky’s starting to get worried when he hears Sam’s voice coming from upstairs. Bucky hurries up the stairs to the office. The door that leads out to the alley is open, and all Bucky can see is the stain of blood on the white linoleum just inside.

“What the fuck?”

“Barnes. Thank fuck. Call an ambulance.”

“Fuggu.” 

Steve’s voice sounds thick, and when Bucky moves closer, he can see why. Steve’s mouth is swollen, his upper lip split and bleeding sluggishly. Both eyes are black and, given the weird angle of his nose, it’s likely broken.

“What the fuck?” Bucky pulls out his phone and dials. “What happened?”

“Apparently Mr. Asshole here decided he needed to punch some guys in the fist with his face. You didn’t even like the dumbass that much. Why do you give a fuck if he’s getting married?”

“Hag ub.” Steve looks at Bucky. “Pease.”

Bucky looks at Sam and then shuts his phone. “You gonna answer Sam’s question?”

Steve stands up and sways. Sam reaches out and grabs his arm, and Steve hisses. “Shit,” Sam snaps. “You got a broken arm? Call, Barnes.”

“I’ll have Clint bring his car. We’ll take him to the hospital ourselves.”

Sam growls, but he nods. Steve walks over to a small dresser and picks something up from the top of it. He hands an envelope to Sam. Closing his eyes, he sinks back onto the bed. Sam glances at Bucky and then opens the envelope.

Bucky tries to see what it is while he’s texting Clint. Sam lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been punched out of him. “Oh, shit, Steve.”

Bucky stops texting and moves close enough to see the paper. It’s a creamy ivory and glossy, dark ink sprawled lazily across it. He doesn’t read it all, but the couple of lines tell him the whole story. “Shit. Don and this. Did you know?”

Steve shakes his head, then winces, putting one hand on his face and hissing when he touches the bruises. “No.”

Sam sits next to him. “Did you know she was dating someone?”

“Knew nothing.”

“Peggy’s your ex, right?” Bucky finally finishes off his text to Clint then sits on the other side of Steve. He touches his back lightly, then moves his hand away. 

Steve nods just a bit. He turns his head and looks at Sam. “Date.”

“Oh fucking hell. You know she didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Know.”

“Why’d you go out and get the shit beaten out of you, man?”

Steve laughs and smiles. It’s a gruesome sight, blood on his teeth. “Not fightin’ Foreplay.”

Bucky’s phone buzzes with Clint’s text letting him know he’s on his way. When he looks up, Sam’s fingers are on Steve’s nose. “You’re not going to…” He stops when Sam snaps his hand, snaps Steve’s nose back into place. Steve grabs his shirt and presses it up against his nose to staunch some of the bleeding.

“You know, foreplay doesn’t normally put you in the hospital,” Sam says softly. “Safe, sane, and consensual, remember?”

“Risk aware consensual kink,” Steve mutters, making Sam roll his eyes. “Didn’t fuck ‘im.”

“Yes. That makes me feel so much better,” Sam says dryly. “Because it’s your fucking virtue I’m worried about.”

“Which is worse?” Steve asks, his voice clearing up slightly now that his nose is back in place. He sways again, head resting against Sam’s shoulder. “Getting the shit beat out of me physically or emotionally?” Before either Bucky or Sam can say anything, he laughs raggedly, then coughs up blood, wiping it on his already ruined shirt. “What do you get your ex who’s getting married on the day your mother died for a present? What says it’s good to know everyone has no trouble getting over me.” 

“Steve.” 

He shakes his head. “You think people have to skewer themselves for me, Barnes? Don’t worry. They pay me back tenfold.” He laughs again. “You two need to go open the bar. It’s Christmas Eve. People are gonna need drinks. I need a drink.”

“Once Clint’s here,” Bucky tells him. “Not a minute before.”

“I could fire you. Kick you off the premises.”

“Yeah? Who’s gonna throw me out? Sam? Or you think you’ll call the police to do it? What do you say, Sam? You feel up to kicking my ass out?”

“Steve.” Sam’s tone is even and quiet, which is probably better than Bucky’s sharp one. “You’re actually hurt, man. Broken shit. That’s not something you can have and get by on your own. You can’t stop us from giving a shit about you, man. So let us do it.” 

The sound of tires squealing fills the air, and a few moments later Clint comes bounding in the room, almost falling on his ass when he slips in blood. “I’m here. What the fuck?”

Sam stands up and carefully helps Steve to his feet. “I’m gonna take Steve to the hospital. You’re gonna stay here and help Barnes with the bar.”

“Why don’t I take him, since you, you know, actually work here?” Sam gives Clint a slow, steady look that causes Clint to blush. “Right. My driving. Okay.”

Steve is staring at the ground, and something about that makes Bucky’s heart hurt. “Call me when you know something,” Bucky says to Sam. Sam nods and looks at the stairs down to the car.

Steve looks up immediately and glares at Sam. “Don’t even think about it.” He pulls out of Sam’s hold, and it’s clear that it hurts him, but he grabs the railing his good hand and works his way slowly down the stairs. They’re all quiet enough that they can hear every hiss, and there’s a clear bump under the skin of his forearm that’s obviously a broken bone that didn’t puncture the skin. 

Sam sighs and takes the keys from Clint. “Merry fucking Christmas, huh?”

**

There’s nothing even close to celebrating going on. The bar is full and there’s the low-level hum of conversation, but the atmosphere is tense, despite the fact that Bucky has been pouring drinks and pulling beers in excessive amounts. Luke’s been hauling in kegs and bottles from the back, and Clint hasn’t complained once about having to clean tables. 

Every time the door opens, the entire bar seems to stop and holds its breath, only exhaling when it’s just another patron, just another person looking to get a little tight before they head home to play Santa.

Steve had intended to close up early, but they keep the bar open. Bucky, Clint, Luke, and Natasha keep checking their phones, texting Sam and frowning in turn when none of them get a response. It’s after midnight and it’s just the four of them, as well as Luke’s girlfriends, Jessica and Trish. They’ve all switched to water, absently eating finger-fuls of the cake that Trish brought. 

The door opens and they all sit up straight. Clint nearly falls off his chair and gets frosting on his nose. Everyone ignores him as Sam walks in. He looks exhausted as he waits for the door to shut and locks it, taking the closest chair and slumping into it. Bucky pours a double shot of whiskey and carries it over to Sam, sliding it in front of him.

“Thanks, man.” Sam’s voice is rough. He rubs his hands over his face and then grabs the glass, downing it in one swallow, shuddering in the aftermath. “He’s still in the hospital. Assuming they can keep his ass there.”

“What’d they say?” Luke asks, pouring Sam another drink. Bucky walks over and grabs it and sets it in front of Sam before sitting down across from him. 

“Broken arm, shattered wrist, broken nose.” Clint hisses and Sam shakes his head. “Gets worse. Two broken ribs, punctured lung, and a bruised jawbone.”

“Christ,” Jessica says. “Who the fuck did he take on? King Kong? Godzilla?”

“He wouldn’t say. Won’t say.” Sam swallows down the second glass of whiskey and leans back. “I tried to convince them to wire his jaw shut, and they almost did because he wouldn’t stop bitching, but apparently that’s unethical or some shit.”

“When does he come home?” Natasha asks. She’s leaning against the bar, her stance relaxed, but Bucky can tell there’s tension in her spine, in every line of her. “Or, when will he be officially released? Not when does he sneak out of his room and walk home?”

“I took his clothes, so he’ll be walking bare-assed if he does. Doc said tomorrow though, so long as his pain’s at manageable levels.”

“Which, even if it isn’t, Steve will say it is.” She nods. “Okay. I’ll go there and take first watch.”

“I gotta be in Harlem by eight or my mama’s gonna kick my ass and then let my nieces and nephews have a shot at me.” Sam yawns. “I’ll try to get away as soon as I can.”

Luke looks at Jessica and Trish. “We can hold off celebrating. And I’ll see if Claire’s on duty. She can do some Steve wrangling. She’s done it before.”

“I’ll take care of the bar,” Bucky adds. “Steve wasn’t going to open up until early evening anyway, so that’s not a problem.”

“I can help,” Clint adds. “I mean, if Barnes can pour a beer one-handed, I can probably manage it with two.” Everyone gives him a long look and Clint huffs. “You’re all the worst.”

“Okay,” Natasha claps her hands together. She looks at Trish, Jessica, and Luke. “Can one of you take over about nine?”

“Yeah.” Trish nods. “I’ll bring breakfast along. Tell Claire I’ll bring her some too.”

Sam yawns again. “Okay. I’m goin’ home.” He stands up and tosses Clint his keys. “Gimme a ride home?”

“Yeah.” Clint grabs his jacket from behind the bar. “Buck?”

“I’ll stay and lock up. Head home pretty soon.” He follows them all to the door and locks it behind them. He turns off the lights and grabs Sam’s glasses on the way back to the bar, setting them in the small sink. The dishwasher’s already been run, and he doesn’t have the energy to put all the glasses away. 

He double-checks the safe and the back door, then heads upstairs. He knows he has absolutely no right or reason to go into Steve’s apartment, but he tells himself that he needs to make sure the door is locked. He knows it is. He’d locked it himself.

There’s a dim light shining in through the window over Steve’s sink, glinting off the dark blood on the floor. Bucky turns on the hot water and plugs the sink, pouring in a healthy dollop of dish soap. He lets the sink get about half full, steam rising off the water. 

He starts scrubbing, scouring the floor with the soapy water and, when that runs dark with blood, he breaks out a bottle of bleach and scrubs with that. By the time he stops, his arm is aching and he can still see the faint stains on the old floor. He slumps back against the counter. He’s tired and sore and knows he’s not going to get any sleep. Hauling himself to his feet, he checks again to make sure the door is locked before heading downstairs again.

He texts Clint that he’ll see him in the morning and not to worry. He starts walking, not with an actual plan in mind, though he’s not surprised when he ends up in front of the hospital. He texts Natasha to find out Steve’s room number, then heads up, avoiding nurses and security guards in case anyone wants to tell him it’s way past visiting hours.

Natasha’s sitting in a chair, her feet propped up on the end of Steve’s bed. Bucky shuts the door behind him and walks over, standing even with Steve’s shoulder and looking down at him. “I thought he’d look better after they cleaned him up.”

“Before they wash off the blood, you can pretend it’s mostly superficial stuff. Now you see exactly what a mess he got himself into.” She’s texting, not looking up from her phone. “Do we have any idea who did this?”

“No. He said it was foreplay, not fighting.” Bucky steps back and leans against the wall. The low light in the room keeps Steve’s face in shadows, darkening his bruises. “If he fucks everyone he fights with, I think he and I are married.”

“You haven’t even reached first base.” Natasha laughs. “Steve likes it physical. He’ll argue with anyone.”

“Barely counts as flirting, huh?” Bucky rubs his palm over the top of his head. His hair can’t actually be more messed up, given how many times he’s run his fingers through it. “Anyone tell you what happened?”

She hums and sets her phone down on her thigh. “Sam.” 

Bucky nods. “Did they...Um.” He rakes his fingers through his hair again. “Did he need a…”

Natasha’s eyebrow goes up at the first half of the sentence, the other one lifting after the second, obviously parsing what he means. “He said it wasn’t necessary.”

“That’s good.”

“Hmm.” Natasha grabs her phone and drops her feet to the floor. She stands and walks over to Bucky, grabbing him by the chin. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking he can’t take care of himself.”

“I know he can.” He looks at Steve and then back at Natasha. “But I think he needs to stop making the mistake of thinking he’s in this all alone.” 

“Yes. He does. You have anywhere to be?”

“No. Hanukkah was a couple weeks ago.”

“You going to stay?”

“Yeah. Sure. You have plans?”

“Sort of. If he tries to leave, punch him again, okay?”

“Um. No?”

She goes up on her toes and kisses his cheek, hand on his scarred shoulder. “He’ll argue with you when he wakes up.”

“That’s not going to be any different than usual.” She laughs and he gives her a look, definitely not pouting. “Go away.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” She jabs him in the chest with her finger. “Remember that.” He rubs the spot where she’d poked him as she goes over to kiss the top of Steve’s head. “Idiot.”

Bucky watches her go, lifting his hand in a wave. He sits in the chair she’d been in, managing it for a few minutes before he gets up and sits on the end of Steve's bed. “So I was engaged to this girl. Looking back now, I think the most I can say is that I think I loved her. When I came back, she didn’t even wait until I was out of the hospital before she told me she couldn't be with someone who wasn’t a whole man. I think it was an excuse. Think she found someone when I was gone. Not sure if it was when I was captured or before. But she got married about three months after she dumped me.”

“Miss her?” Steve’s voice is soft and slurred, and Bucky starts a little realizing he’s awake.

“Don’t talk.” Steve starts to gesture, nearly braining himself with his cast. Bucky presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Though he thinks Steve would take the laughter better than anything else. “I did. I mean, at first. Or I thought I did? I don’t know. I kind of hated myself more than her at the time. Wondered if I shouldn’t have died over there. But then, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say maybe you know something about this, but I thought ‘fuck her’ and got better out of spite.”

“Heh. Go out on a limb.” Steve snuffs a laugh through his nose and makes a pained noise. “Spite’s great.”

“To start with. Hard to maintain. Anyway, I realized that I wasn’t really better. Not thinking like that. I had to be better for me, not her. Not because of her. I mean, I’m not okay. Not by a fucking long shot.”

“Loved her. Love her.” Steve closes his eyes. “Know she’s happy. Happy for her.”

“But.”

Steve sighs and nods. “But.”

“You know, I would have gladly beaten you up.” 

This time Steve actually laughs and then groans. “Fuck.”

“I mean, you probably would’ve had to stand still since I don’t have my prosthetic on, but I think I could work up some animosity.” He smiles at Steve and leans against the foot of the bed, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. He rests his hand on Steve’s ankle, and they both stare at it for a moment. Finally Bucky looks up at him. “It doesn’t have to hurt all the time.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to,” Steve agrees. “But it still does.”

**

Steve jolts in his sleep and Bucky snaps awake. It takes him a minute to remember where he is and why. He’s not sure when he fell asleep or how he ended up more stretched out on Steve’s bed, his upper body curved around Steve’s legs. He sits up and rubs his eyes, yawning widely. Steve’s face is scrunched up, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s pain or if he’s dreaming.

A nurse comes in, walking quietly, and checks Steve’s IV. She smiles at Bucky and tilts her head in Steve’s direction. “Boyfriend?”

“What? No.” Bucky whispers, shaking his head. “Boss. Doesn’t like hospitals.”

“Mm.”

Bucky doesn’t think about what that might mean, preferring instead to ignore it and get off the bed. He goes into the bathroom and closes the door. He stares at himself in the mirror, then washes his face with cold water. When he comes back out, Steve’s sitting up, smiling at the nurse as if his entire face isn’t swollen, as if he’s not in pain.

When the door opens, he looks at Bucky, and his smile changes. Still a smile, but different. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“Fell asleep. Must’ve bored me.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Nah. We’d get along better if I was.” Bucky grins at him, and Steve’s smile widens, then he winces. He looks at the nurse, not wanting to see the pain flash through Steve’s eyes, not wanting to be the cause of it. “When do we think he can go home?”

 

“The doctor will be by in a few hours to make the decision, but I would imagine he could go home later today.”

“Or I could sneak out now,” Steve suggests, raising his eyebrows in Bucky’s direction.

“However, I don’t have a death wish, and I have standing orders from Natasha to keep you in bed.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up even higher. “Is _that_ so?”

“Really? You’re in a hospital bed, bruised, beaten, and broken and you’re lobbing innuendo at me?”

“You started it.”

“I’m going to leave you two alone.” The nurse is smiling as she backs toward the door, hands raised in surrender. As soon as the door closes, Steve tries to cross his arms, giving up as soon as he realizes he can't. 

“You started it.”

“You gave up on crossing your arms. I didn’t think Steve Rogers knew how to do that.”

“It’s broken. It still works.” Steve proves it by flipping Bucky off. Bucky just grins. Steve’s mouth twists into some approximation of a smile, and Bucky can only imagine the pain he’s feeling. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ll promise to stay here, even. You can ask Nat. I don’t break promises.”

“I have been informed that you don’t break them, but you’re an expert at finding loopholes. I value my life, and therefore, I’m not leaving you alone. Unless there’s someone else in the room, I’m not even letting you out of my sight long enough to take a piss.”

“I think that might be a little extreme.”

“Is it though? Really?” Bucky finally settles into a chair across the room. Steve turns his head to look at him. “Go back to sleep. I have rounds of Candy Crush to play.”

“Do people still play Candy Crush?”

“Probably not, but I’m a rebel.”

“Hm.” Steve closes his eyes, or his eyes close on their own, and it’s not long before his breathing evens out as best it can with his reset nose. Bucky pulls up the book he’s in the middle of reading, but keeps finding himself looking up at Steve, listening to the hiss of oxygen and watching the uneven rise and fall of his chest.

“Be careful.”

Bucky jerks to his feet, whirling toward the door. He’s never had his situation awareness fail him so thoroughly, but when he realizes it’s Natasha, he calms somewhat. He takes several deep breaths, exhaling slowly on the last. “Careful?”

“He’s easy to fall in love with. Hard to love.” She walks over to Steve and brushes his hair back from his forehead. “Well, no. He’s impossible to get to know, but then once you do, he’s easy to fall in love with. But he’s defensive and angry and he’s been hurt and he doesn’t trust people. Not with him. Loving him would be an exercise in caution. Probably hurt. He won’t believe you because he doesn’t believe good things about himself. And he’s had too many guys prey on his weaknesses to believe the wrong things are true.”

“He doesn’t have weaknesses.”

“He lets men beat him up because he thinks he deserves it. He couldn’t go to war because he wasn’t good enough, or so he thinks. He surrounds himself with guys like Luke and Sam and you to help you and to punish himself. He’s an idiot.”

“I thought the beating up was part of the sex.”

She gives him a look that makes him feel a combination of stupid and small. “Does this look like sex, Barnes?”

“To some people.”

“If this was sex, then it was the kind where Steve either didn’t safeword because he was punishing himself, in which case the person he was with wasn’t paying attention, or he safeworded and the guy didn’t listen. Either way, it stopped being sex at some point.” She shakes her head. She leans down and kisses Steve’s forehead. “You're such an idiot.”

“The nurse said she thinks they’ll let him out today.”

“I notice you didn’t ask me why I was talking about loving him.”

“We’re trying to be friends.”

She nods. “Just remember, if you hurt him, well, beyond…”

“I won’t. Either way. That,” Bucky says with a nod toward Steve and all of his injuries, “is not my thing. Besides. Friend. No matter what you think you know.”

“Can you bring him home when they let him loose?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Good. Tell him I stopped by, and I took care of his Thursday thing.”

“What is his Thursday thing?”

Natasha looks him over, eyes assessing. “When he tells you himself, you’ll either be friends or too far gone for him. So that’s a risk you’re going to have to take, because I’m not telling you.”

**

“Jesus Christ, I’m not an _invalid_.”

“Shut up or I will carry you bridal style up these fucking steps.” Bucky helps Steve up the next step, letting him stop and steady himself on the railing with his good hand. Steve opens his mouth and Bucky shakes his head. “I am not fucking kidding.”

Steve growls but doesn’t say anything. The door to Steve’s apartment is open, and Sam’s standing in the doorway. He steps back as Bucky ushers Steve in, guiding him right toward the bed. 

“It’s Christmas.” Steve glares at Sam. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to be beat all to hell, but here we both are.” He heads toward the small kitchen. “Barnes, you want a beer?”

“Yes.”

“I want one.”

“You’re on pain meds. You can have a beer when you stop being stupid as fuck, which means never.” Sam hands Bucky a beer and sits down on the end of Steve’s bed. “We’re going to do this one more time, and if I have to do it again, you can consider that my resignation, understood?”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long time, and the frown he’s wearing looks like it hurts. “Fine.”

“Steve.”

Steve looks up and meets Sam’s eyes. “Fine.”

Bucky stays quiet, not sure if this is something he’s supposed to be here for, but since Sam hasn’t kicked him out, he’s not leaving. Sam takes a drink and then exhales slowly. “Well?”

“I had just gotten…”

“Nope.” Sam says the word casually, but it shuts Steve up immediately. “Try again.”

“Him coming in just after the invite from Peg --”

“Third strike and I’m out.” Sam’s voice stays calm, but Steve’s expression is anything but. 

“I’m sorry, Sam.” It’s quiet for a long time, and Bucky’s afraid to even move. Sam tilts his head after a while, as if to ask if Steve’s done. Steve sighs. “I was hurting, and instead of talking about it and using my words like a grown-up, I went out and did something stupid. It’s just that --”

“Nu-uh. Back up.”

Steve huffs in annoyance. “I was aware of the risks.”

“Risks.” Sam stands up and Bucky doesn’t think he should be able to see the red flush of anger beneath Sam’s dark skin, but he can. “Risks are when you play with knives and whips and canes and shit. Risks are when you listen to fucking safewords and _use_ them. Risks don’t put you in the fucking hospital. You went out looking for a _fight_ , and you got one, and one of these days it’s going to kill you.”

“I was…”

“Do you want to die that badly?”

Everything goes quiet, and Bucky doesn’t dare breathe. “That’s not fair.”

Sam gestures to Bucky. “You think this shit’s fair to us? You want to kill yourself, that’s fine. Do it. But don’t expect us to hang around and watch you do it. We all know what it’s like, Steve, and we know how much it hurts.”

“Not like this.” 

“No. Not like that. But the same goes the other way. Now, take your pain meds, get some sleep. We’ve got the bar covered.” Sam shakes his head. “Fucking idiot.”

Sam leaves and Bucky remembers to breathe. Steve turns his head and there’s no expression on his face. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll do what he says.”

Bucky gets up and gets a glass of water and gets Steve’s pills out of the pharmacy bag they’d gotten at the hospital. He shakes out one and gives it to Steve along with the water. “You need anything?”

“No.”

“A friend?”

“That what we are?”

“We could be. I mean, if you’re willing.”

Steve blows out a breath and looks up at the ceiling. “I get in a lot of fights. Always have. Sam says I’ve got an overdeveloped sense of justice. What I didn’t get in muscles I got in indignation, and to compensate for my height I got a shitload of righteousness. He also calls me stubborn, stupid, and a few other things. He’s not wrong.”

Bucky nods and settles on the bed, back against the headboard. “I kinda got all that.”

“And here I thought I hid it so well.” Steve smirks. “Most people who date me date me for how I look. Total twink, right? But they also expect me to be docile. I was born premature with a list of ailments about two miles long. I’ve been fighting since I took my first breath, and the last fucking thing I am is docile.”

“Now, see. That’s a total surprise.” This time Steve gives him a full smile at the dryness in Bucky’s tone. 

“Anyway. I tend to go for guys who don’t appreciate someone who fights back. And I do. I also tend to go for the type of guys who think that that’s a challenge to their masculinity or whatever, and think they need to teach me a lesson.”

“You need a different type of guy.”

“Maybe.” He closes his eyes. “Maybe I just need to stop trying to find someone. Or something. I think that’s more what I’m looking for.” 

“Maybe you should go to sleep and not make any major life decisions while on Dilaudid.”

“Might be right.” He turns his head and opens his eyes, looking up at Bucky. “Didn’t have to do all this. Know I’m not your favorite person.”

“I do what I want.”

“Mm.” His eyes close again. “Thanks.”

**

It’s not that Natasha is _right_. He’s not falling for Steve. They’re just becoming better friends. 

Bucky’s not the only one who brings food up to him during the week they absolutely insist he stays in bed. They all chip in. And he hangs out after work when Steve’s still awake and they watch movies, because he’s pretty sure a bored Steve is a Steve who ends up getting out of bed, falling down the stairs, and making the open shift at the bar a shit show.

He leaves when Steve falls asleep and goes home. He doesn’t stay longer and he doesn’t crash next to Steve. Except once or twice. And he’s always on top of the covers, so it stays completely friendly. Always. Friends. And thus not falling for Steve Rogers.

He’s scheduled to open the bar on New Year’s Eve, but when he gets there, the lights are on and he can hear music. “Damn it.” Bucky unlocks the door and goes inside, locking it again. He stalks over to the bar and around it to the back room. Steve’s standing there, still in his cast and doing his best to use it to hold up his clipboard. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Steve jumps, his skin flushed red as he turns around. “Oh. Hey, Buck.” He holds up the clipboard with his good hand. “Back inventory.”

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“I’m fine. I can walk, talk, count bottles, and pull beers. That’s all I have to be able to do to run a bar.” Bucky starts to say something, but Steve shakes his head and stops him. “I stayed in bed for a week for you guys. I can’t do it anymore. Lying in bed isn’t going to make anything that’s wrong with me better.”

“I’m calling Natasha.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m a grown man.” Steve faces Bucky head on. “I’m going to work tonight. I missed Christmas. I’m not going to miss New Year’s. This is my home. These people that come in here and work here are my family, and I’m not giving that up.”

Bucky sighs. “At least sit down while you’re counting. And I’ll get the high shelves. You climb up on a stepstool, Natasha’s going to know and I’ll be dead before the clock strikes midnight.”

Steve looks like he’s about to argue, but stops. “Okay. Deal.”

They work well together with Steve recording Bucky’s counts as he does his own with the lower levels of the shelves. When they finish the back room, Steve settles on a barstool and sets the clipboard down as Bucky counts off the bottles behind the counter. 

“What do you do on Thursdays?”

Steve freezes, his mouth hanging open. “What?”

“You always go out on Thursdays. Just wondering what you do.”

“I...um.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” 

“It’s not anything bad or anything.” Steve shrugs, wincing slightly. “I mean, it started bad. It started with me getting arrested and sentenced to community service.”

“You got arrested.”

“You don’t sound surprised.” Steve smirks as Bucky smiles. “Yeah, yeah. It was at a protest, not because of a fight. Well, there wasn’t a fight at first. Anyway, I was sentenced to a hundred-fifty hours. So every Thursday I go to one of the places I work at. And then I go see my mom.”

“Clint told me she died.”

“Yeah. I mean, it was quick in some ways? She got sick, but then she seemed better. Or she made me think she was better. I wasn’t...well, I wasn’t doing really well. Peggy was moving. Moving out. Moving on. And then one day her work called me and said she’d collapsed. I rushed to the hospital and she was gone before I got there.”

“Jesus.”

“Are you supposed to say that? I mean, when you’re Jewish?”

“It’s not actually a bad thing when we do it. To us, he’s really just some dude the gentiles thought was someone special.”

Steve laughs. Bucky catches his breath when Steve’s hand reaches out, touching the Star of David that hangs with Bucky’s dog tags. He seems to realize what he’s doing, what he’s done, and jerks his hand back quickly. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Not like I burst into flames if a Catholic touches me or anything.” Bucky runs a glass through the ice bin, then sprays it full of water, passing it over to Steve before making one for himself. “Where do you volunteer?”

“Well, technically it’s not volunteering until I complete another thirty-seven hours. But I teach an art class down at the Boys & Girls Club, I do a bunch of different things at the retirement home, and I work at one of the shelters.” He takes a sip of his water. “I cycle through them every third week. When my time’s up, I’ll have to decide if I’m going to stay on at all three or pick one.”

“You couldn’t convince them that hiring fucked-up veterans was community service?”

“That’s not why I do this. Sam and I have been friends since before he went overseas. He always said he was glad I didn’t get to join up, though he wasn’t thrilled that I sort of managed to finagle my way in anyway.”

“Not thrilled, but not surprised.”

“Pretty much. Anyway, he was part of a special project and he worked with this guy named Riley. Kind of paratroopers, but not. Anyway, they were doing a recovery mission when Riley was KIA. Sam managed the rest of his tour, then came home. Everyone thought he was fine, but I didn’t believe him. I know what it looks like when you fake being fine. So I bought a bar and made him help me get it ready to launch and then told him I’d like him to stay on and work here. He splits his time here and at the VA.”

“And Luke?”

“He was shot. Given the wrong drugs at the hospital and got sick. They gave him an honorable discharge. He worked at a barbershop, but it was destroyed in a fire. Some other stuff happened, but Trish got us in touch with each other. He used to own a bar, but said he didn’t want the responsibility anymore.”

“And then me?”

“There’ve been a couple others. Most of them moved on. Then Clint showed up and annoyed us to death, but didn’t want a job. Then you.”

“I guess I’m lucky you didn’t kick me out on my ass the second you met me.”

“My bartenders aren’t the only people who come in here with military backgrounds, anger issues, and who are working things out.”

Bucky finishes his water and goes back to the inventory. Steve keeps jotting down the numbers as Bucky calls them out. They finish and Steve slides off the stool. “Okay. Going to make the order, then I’ll be back down.”

“Go make the order, then take a pain pill and a nap.” He reaches over and taps the lines at the corners of Steve’s eyes. “You’re tired. I’ll get everything ready.”

“You know, at least when you were an asshole you didn’t _baby_ me.”

“Well, if you didn’t get your ass beaten down all the time, I wouldn’t have to baby you, so let’s be honest about who’s at fault here.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine, _mom_.”

Bucky watches him climb the stairs. He goes up carefully, hanging onto the bannister, and Bucky exhales with relief once he’s at the top. Steve doesn’t look back as he gives Bucky the finger. “I’m feeling the love.”

Steve ignores him and goes into his office, shutting the door behind him. Bucky restocks glasses, pulls chairs down, takes the deposit to the bank, and grabs lunch. He goes upstairs and lets himself into Steve’s office, then Steve’s apartment when he’s not behind the desk. He’s actually surprised to see him in bed.

He’s sprawled out, taking up the whole thing, despite his size. He’s got one arm thrown over his head and the other on his stomach. His jeans rest low on his hips and Bucky can see the waistband of his boxer briefs as well as the skin of Steve’s stomach from where his shirt has bunched up at the base of his ribs. 

It’s probably incredibly creepy to stare at him, but Steve actually looks relaxed and peaceful and not ready to fight, and he’s gorgeous.

“Oh shit.”

Steve jerks awake, sitting up quickly and groaning. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing. Shit. Sorry. Nothing.” Bucky shakes his head and sets the bag on Steve’s counter, going to the cupboard to get plates. “I just bought lunch. Chinese. Forgot chopsticks.”

“I don’t think that’s reason to get that upset.” Steve scoots to the end of the bed. “Also, why are you eating up here?”

“I bought lunch for both of us.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you might be hungry.” Bucky sets the plates on the small table and grabs the bag, bringing it over and starting to unpack it. “We haven’t taken you grocery shopping, and I know man cannot live on beer nuts.” He glances over and sees the look on Steve’s face as he sits up. He recognizes it, but takes it for concern rather than pity. “I did a lot of drinking and not a lot of eating when I came home.”

“You and Clint served together?”

“We knew each other in high school. Enlisted together. When he got back from his tour, he went looking for me. Asked around. Apparently it’s a lot easier to find a guy with one arm.”

“Not if you ask Richard Kimble.”

Bucky pauses and then snorts a laugh. “You are a complete and utter dork.”

“Hey! You got the reference! I think that makes you at least as dorky as me.” Steve dishes himself up rice and szechuan beef. Bucky fills his plate with chow mein and kung pao chicken. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad Clint found you and got you here.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have a lot of options. And Clint can be really fucking annoying until he gets what he wants.”

“Clint can be pretty fucking annoying all the time.”

“Also true.” Bucky starts eating, concentrating on his food and not looking at Steve. It’s bad enough the picture of him sleeping seems to be seared into Bucky’s brain. They eat in silence after that. Bucky’s almost finished when Steve kicks his foot. “You could just say my name.”

“Oh, c’mon. We all know I prefer to resort to violence.”

“How does anyone put up with you?”

“My charming personality?”

“You’re an asshole.”

Steve laughs and kicks Bucky again. “Thanks. For lunch.”

“Yeah, well. I figure if you can work, you can feed yourself, so this is the last time I do it. I can maybe be persuaded to borrow Clint’s car to take you to get food so you don’t die or anything.”

“Wow. You’re really a giver, Barnes.”

“I know. My generous spirit is my curse.”

Steve kicks him again. “Why are you doing all of this?”

“Hey, you die, I lose my job.” Bucky kicks Steve back. Steve kicks him again in return, and they’re suddenly playing a violent game of footsie. Bucky says it, and Steve kicks him harder, then captures Bucky’s leg between his feet. “The referee calls holding.”

“Hey, you’re the one wearing shoes. I’ve got nothing but my bare feet.”

“Oh, you want a level playing field, huh?” Bucky toes his shoes off and gets his leg out from between Steve’s. “You gonna complain about my socks next?”

“This isn’t strip poker,” Steve laughs as he kicks Bucky in the shin. “Which is good, because I’m shit at strip poker and, trust me, you don’t want to see me naked.”

Bucky catches Steve’s ankle between the soles of his feet. Steve opens his mouth then closes it, leaving them in a heated silence. Bucky’s foot moves slightly, toes slipping under the leg of Steve’s jeans.

Steve jerks away, nearly knocking the table over. “Should get downstairs and open up.”

“Yeah. Um. Why don’t you clean up here and I’ll go down and get it open.” He doesn’t wait for Steve’s answer, just gets to his feet and out of the apartment. He takes a deep breath when he gets to the bottom of the stairs. “Shit. Shit shit shit.” 

He keeps muttering to himself about what an idiot he is as he unlocks the door and turns on the neon open sign in the window. He hears the door to the office swing shut and stops berating himself as Steve makes his way downstairs. Bucky grabs a stool and sets it next to the door to the back room.

“Sit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven’t been up and around much. You’ll get tired easily. Sit when you can.”

“I don’t know who’s worse, you or Sam.”

“The answer is always Sam.” Bucky pulls out a bottle of Steve’s favorite beer and uses the bottle opener attached to the bottom of the counter to pop it open before handing it over. Steve takes a drink and Bucky realizes he’s watching the way Steve’s throat moves, the way his long fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle. “I appreciate all you did so I can work here. The modifications. I know it couldn’t have been cheap.”

“I made a lot of money at my last job.” He shrugs. “Just putting it to good use.”

“Well…” Bucky shrugs in return. “Most people wouldn’t have. So. Thanks, I guess. I mean, just thanks.”

Steve laughs. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up, asshole.” The door opens and Bucky turns around, all business. One customer leads to two leads to a slew of them, all getting a head-start on New Year’s Eve. Steve takes car keys like he’s a valet, telling everyone who wants to drink that he gets to decide if they’re okay to drive. He gets a lot of greetings and hugs from people he hasn’t seen in over a week, and Bucky watches the way he hugs. He keeps his body close to the people like they’re one unit, not holding himself back like they’re forming a letter A. 

Bucky tries to keep his focus on the customers rather than what hugging Steve would feel like. He’s probably going to have to kill Natasha for making him realize that he’s been kidding himself all along. Of course, if he does that, he has to listen to the gloating “I told you so” he’d get before she actually died. 

“Hey, sailor.”

Speak of the devil. Bucky looks up from the beer he’s pulling and gives Natasha a quick glance. “Not a sailor. And what’s your poison?”

 

“Hey soldier just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” She settles on a stool across from the taps. “Lemon drop.”

“Coming right up.” Bucky makes the drink easily, adept now at handling mixed drinks. He can feel her watching him, but ignores her until he puts the drink in front of her. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything at all.”

“Yeah, you never do.”

She glances over toward Steve. “Couldn’t keep him in bed, huh?”

Bucky can feel the flush burn his cheeks. “Steve does what Steve wants. He says he’s humored us for a week, so now we’re just gonna have to deal.”

“Sounds like him.” She takes a sip of her drink. She puts her elbow on the bar and leans in. Bucky takes a deep breath, then blows it out through his nose before leaning into her as well. “He watches you.”

“This isn’t _Fiddler on the Roof_. I don’t need or want a matchmaker. And maybe Steve and I don’t hate each other anymore, but you’re innuendo is only going to ruin that tenuous friendship. So lay off.”

“Nat, are you flirting with my boy?” Clint slides onto the stool next to Natasha. “Gimme a beer, barkeep.”

“I’m not giving you anything. You pay like everyone else.”

“I’m telling Steve.” Clint waves to get Steve’s attention. “Steve! Bucky won’t give me a beer.”

“If we gave you beer, we’d go out of business, Barton.” He doesn’t come over, so Bucky glances over at him. When he looks back, Natasha’s watching him with knowing eyes. He gets Clint his beer and then walks away from them both to help someone else.

Sam and Luke come in a couple of hours later, and the mood picks up even more. Luke’s overridden the jukebox so it keeps playing, no quarters needed. Clint has a dart tournament going -- one he’s not talking part in, so there’s actually some betting going on. Sam’s flat-out flirting with Natasha, which is great for Bucky, because he’s tired of her watching him.

“Barnes!” Steve’s voice catches Bucky’s attention, and he looks up. Steve’s by Natasha and Sam, but he tilts his head in the direction of the back room. Bucky finishes up the drink he’s making and makes change before following Steve to the back.

“What’s up?”

“Break time.” Steve sits at the small table and stretches out his legs, arching his back until it pops. He groans softly. “Sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sit.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “If you get to be my mom, I’m going to be yours. So sit.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but does. He pulls his shoulders forward and then arches them back. Steve’s watching him, and Bucky makes sure not to meet his eyes. He rolls his head from side to side until his neck pops. “Jesus.”

“Ha. Told you so.” Steve kicks his feet up and sets them on Bucky’s thigh, crossing his ankles. “You should take some time off.”

Bucky looks up quickly. “What?”

“You’ve been working your ass off since I got hurt. You haven’t taken a day off.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t. Trust me, I didn’t have much to do but listen to the comings and goings of the bar. You were here every day. I owe you your regular days off and then some.”

“I was glad to help.”

“I know. And I appreciate it.” Steve smiles. “More than you know. But I’m back on my feet now.”

“Barely.”

“Hey.” Bucky looks away. Steve’s voice softens. “Hey, c’mon. I’m trying to be nice here. It’s not my natural state of being. Work with me, okay?”

“You’ll do too much and get hurt worse, because you’re an idiot.”

“Probably. But what if I promise not to? Or to try not to? I’ll be on my very best behavior. You’ve got to be sick of me and this place by now. And you’re not going to get laid if all you do is hang out here.”

“You’d be surprised how not in demand a one-armed guy is.”

“I don’t know. You’re not bad enough to kick out of bed, I wouldn’t think. You’ve got a certain grumpy charm.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Getting kicked out of bed implies that I got into it in the first place. That’s the difficult part.”

“Have you been looking? What about Audrey? She looks at you all the time.”

“Audrey?”

“The girl from the coffee shop across the street? The one who stares at you the entire time you’re there? The one who can’t remember anyone’s name but yours? I’ve known the woman for three years, and she still can’t manage to call me Steve.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Steve stares at him. “You’re kidding, right? She writes her number on your coffee cup all the time.”

“She does?”

“Oh my god.” Steve drops his legs and Bucky immediately misses their weight. “How do you not notice? Are you blind?”

“Gay.”

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. He opens it again and exhales. “What?”

“I’m gay.”

“You’re gay?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew.”

“How would I know?”

 

“I don’t know. I just thought you did.” He shrugs and just watches the expressions on Steve’s face as they change. “So I don’t notice things that girls do usually. What does she call you?”

“Who?” Steve looks utterly baffled and Bucky can’t help but smile. 

“Audrey.”

“Oh. Um. Lots of things. Things you know she’s making up, because no one is named Steam.”

“My name is Bucky.” He shrugs. “Besides, with all the celebrities naming their kids weird shit, Steam could be the next new thing. You’re a trendsetter.”

“I’m definitely not that.” Steve leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he looks over Bucky. “You’re really gay?”

“Why is that such a surprise?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just assumed that you were heterosexual. I don’t know if you know this, but they make up a large part of the general population.”

“Do I give off a heterosexual vibe?” Bucky raises one eyebrow, watching as Steve blushes. “I mean, I _know_ you’re not using _stereotypes_.”

Steve lifts his leg and shoves Bucky’s thigh with his foot. “Asshole.”

“Yeah, well. You should be used to that by now.” They’re quiet for a long time, the faint sounds of the bar coming through the door. “You really want me to take some time off?”

“You deserve the time off. You’ve gone above and beyond for me. The least I can do is give you a break from dealing with your asshole boss.”

“He really is an asshole.” 

“He is.” Steve laces his fingers together and stares down at his hands. “I’m not good at letting people take care of me.”

Bucky lets out a dramatic gasp. “Lies!”

“Fuck off.” Steve laughs quietly, then shakes his head, sobering. “I was sick a lot as a kid, but I wasn’t willing to let it keep me from doing the things that I wanted to do. A lot of times that ended up with me being confined to bed, behind on schoolwork. Didn’t have a lot of friends. Believe it or not, when you’re ready to fight something at the drop of a hat, you tend to make a lot more enemies than anything else.”

Bucky nods, but doesn’t say anything. Steve’s not looking at him anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

“When people would do things for me, I just assumed it was pity. I couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to help me otherwise. So I’m bad at accepting it, horrible to people when I need it, and even more of a dick when I’m hurt.”

“But you keep getting yourself hurt,” Bucky says softly. “And I don’t mean the fights you get into standing up for people. I mean this.” He gestures to Steve’s arm and the rest of him in general. “I mean, I’m not shaming your kinks, but if you’re into pain, there are much better ways to go about it that don’t end with you in the hospital.”

“I wanted to hurt. Make the outside match the inside.” The door swings open and Steve stops talking immediately, sitting up straighter. Natasha leans against the door jamb. 

“Everything okay in here, boys?”

“Yeah.” Steve stands. “Just telling Bucky he’s been working too hard and needs to take a break. A little vacation. Get away from the ogre upstairs.”

“How come I don’t get vacations from you?”

“I pay you to hang out with me.” Steve shrugs. “I didn’t say you got benefits.” He puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezes. “C’mon, Barnes. Off your ass. You’re not on vacation yet.”

**

No one leaves at nine, all of the staff sticking around to help, taking breaks now and then to spend time with their significant others. As midnight gets closer, they get busier behind the bar, and someone turns the TV in the corner on so they can watch the ball drop. 

Two years ago, Bucky had been in a hospital and they’d taken most of what was left of his arm. Last year had been tough, but this year, he’s listening to Barton tell bad jokes, watching Sam playing three-card monte with two girls, and watching Steve pass out beers with his good hand. 

“Question.” Bucky leans against the bar next to Steve, his back to the room. “Who does Luke kiss first?”

“Hmm?”

“At midnight? Who does he kiss first?”

Steve glances over to where Luke is sitting with Trish and Jessica. “I think they just both kiss him. Or maybe they kiss each other. You could watch, I suppose.”

“Nah. Just curious.” He glances over his shoulder to look at the countdown. “You making any resolutions?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy to make resolutions?”

“Honestly?” Bucky laughs. “Yes. And try very hard to keep them, and get angry at yourself if you don’t.”

“I don’t like you.”

“C’mon.” Bucky kicks Steve’s ankle. “Tell me one.”

“No.”

“C’mon.” He kicks his ankle again. “Humor me.”

“Do you make resolutions?”

“Nope. No resolutions, no wishing on falling stars. Don’t even make a wish when I blow out my candles.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“The world has people like you to do all the wishing for the rest of us.” This time he pokes Steve in the side. “C’mon. Resolution.”

“Fine. To stay out of the hospital.”

“I approve of that one.” Bucky smiles. “I think we all do.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Steve draws two beers and hands one to Bucky. “It’s almost time.”

Bucky glances at the TV as the rest of the people in the bar start shouting out numbers. He turns back to Steve and can’t look away. Steve’s watching him as well, a furrow between his eyebrows like he’s concentrating, trying to figure something out.

The cry of “Happy New Year!” goes up all around them and Bucky taps his beer glass against Steve’s 

“Happy new year.”

“Yeah.” They both drink, and Steve still hasn’t looked away. Bucky can feel heat flushing through him, feel his cheeks grow warm. Steve shakes his head and steps back, taking another drink of his beer before turning back to the people at the bar, already clamoring for the first drink of the new year.

Bucky swallows hard, drains his beer, and then gets to work filling orders. When he glances up, Natasha’s looking at him thoughtfully. He shakes his head sharply at her, and she shrugs before she walks away.

**

It’s a week later, and Bucky’s going stir-crazy taking his forced day off. He’s been at the bar half the days, just hanging out. He looks at Clint who is sitting on the couch, stands up, and starts pacing. Again. 

“I have a problem.”

“Besides being my best friend?” Clint bends his head back to look at Bucky over the top of the couch. 

“Yes. Worse than even that.”

“Wow.” Clint sits up and then shifts to perch on the arm. He puts his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “Tell daddy all about it.”

“Never, ever, ever say that again. Ever.”

Clint tilts his head, thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah, okay. You’ve got a point.”

Bucky sighs and keeps pacing. There’s not a lot of room in the apartment, so he mostly walks about five steps in each direction. “I maybe have feelings.”

“For Steve? Yeah. I know.” Clint slides his lower lip out in a pout. “Man, I thought this was going to be something good.”

“What do you mean, you know?”

“Bucky, you bitch about him constantly. And when you’re not bitching, you’re talking about him. Or you’re working with him. Or, lately, you’re hanging out with him acting like a mother hen. You are smitten.”

“I’m not smitten.”

“You’re a smitten kitten. You want to climb him like a tree. Or, well, if you tried that, you’d probably snap his spine or something. He is little, but fierce. You could probably climb him. And you wouldn’t have to climb very high before he could suck your dick.”

“Oh my god, stop talking!”

Cling shrugs. “Dude, we all know. It’s cool.”

“Who all knows?”

“Um, anyone who has eyes? I mean, except Steve because he’s probably dumber than you when it comes to this shit. So when are you making your move?”

“I’m not making a move!”

“Why the fuck not? Put us all out of our sexually charged tension. Being around you two is fucking exhausting. You’re like… I don’t know. You make everyone want to fuck in sympathy. You put out a vibe. Heh. Vibe.”

“You’re a child.”

“Look, just tell him. Just say, ‘hey, Steve. You’re a little shit, but I want to fuck you into the mattress and be your boyfriend forever.’ Then you’re good.”

“I hate you.” Bucky comes over and flops onto the couch. “I can’t say that. Steve doesn’t… He’s not into me.”

Clint drops his head into his hands. “Okay, I lied. You’re just as dumb as Steve. Luke’s about to lock you in the back room and not let you out until one of you gets the D.”

“That’s it.” He grabs Clint’s phone. “No more internet for you. Ever. God.” He shoves the phone in his pocket. “I’m not going to treat him like shit.”

“Well, that’s good, because there’d be a line of people ready to kick your ass if you did.” Clint raises his hands. “What’s the problem? I mean, it’s usually better if you don’t treat the person you’re dating like shit.”

“Steve _likes_ guys who treat him like shit.”

“Oh, sweet summer child.” Clint drops back onto the couch, sitting cross-legged and facing Bucky. “Steve is _used_ to getting treated like shit. Steve thinks he _deserves_ to get treated like shit. After Peggy, man. He lost the plot. He figured if the person he loved most after his mom could walk out on him, how was he worth anything? It didn’t matter what any of us said or did. He was hurting, and he thought that was his lot in life, you know? I mean, I’m not clear on Steve’s kinks or anything, but I bet he’d be cool with some sweet, sweet lovin’.”

“I can’t talk to you. I can’t… Jesus fuck.” Bucky gets up and starts pacing again.

“Bucky. Buck.” When Bucky doesn’t stop, Clint sighs. “Sarge.” That stops Bucky in his tracks and he looks at Clint, surprised and wary. “I’m not going to lie to you, okay? I’m your friend, and even though I’m an asshole, I’m not that kind of asshole. If you want it, you’ve got a shot. Steve likes you. Likes you likes you. Passing notes in class and checking yes likes you. So man the fuck up and do something about it.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Well, that would suck.”

“ _Clint_.”

“I’m not wrong. I’m never wrong.” He doesn’t react to Bucky’s stare for a long time. “Okay, hardly ever wrong. Mostly. Sometimes.”

“You are, literally, the worst best friend ever.” Bucky sits down again and thumps his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. He sighs, his voice soft when he speaks. “I don’t want to fuck anything up. I like the bar. The people I work with. The job I do. If I’m wrong, then this is all going to go to hell.”

“Yeah, but if it goes right? I mean, won’t that be worth it? You deserve nice things. Pretty things. Scrawny little shit Steve-shaped things.”

“I’m kicking your ass if this goes pear-shaped.”

“Cool.” Clint reaches behind Bucky and squeezes his ass as he grabs his phone. “Seriously though. You give or receive?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Why not? I’ve heard you jack off, man. In country and on my couch. I’m an open-minded guy. I have been known to use a vi --”

“Stop. Stop right there. Now. And I don’t jerk off on the couch. I do it in the shower like a normal human. And, please, let’s stop talking about this now.”

“Eh. Whatever.”

**

It’s two hours before Bucky’s even supposed to be at the bar, but he lets himself in with his key. “Steve? You home?”

 

“Fuck off, Barnes. It’s eight in the fucking morning.” A few minutes later Steve appears at the top of the steps. His hair is sticking up all over the place, he’s wiping sleep out of his eyes, and he’s just wearing a pair of boxers. “The fuck?”

“I bought pastries.”

“I was _sleeping_.”

“Chocolate croissants?”

“Fuck. Come on up.” He turns and goes back through the office to his apartment. Bucky jogs up the stairs and follows him, shutting the door behind him. Steve’s bed is rumpled, and by the time Bucky gets there, he’s sitting on the bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. 

Well. 

“What is it that can’t wait until a normal hour?” Steve grumbles, tugging the covers higher. Bucky really, really wants to just tug them down and look Steve over. He wants to memorize every inch of him.

“I… Um…” Bucky sits on the edge of the bed at Steve’s side. He takes a couple of deep breaths, and Steve looks at him, concerned. “Fuck.” 

Bucky leans in, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s. Steve sucks in a breath and exhales shakily. He licks his lips and Bucky’s close enough that he can feel the whisper of his tongue. 

“B-bucky?”

Bucky tilts his head a little bit more, his mouth against Steve’s. He’s not putting any pressure on, just breathing there, breathing him in. “Can I kiss you?” Bucky whispers.

Steve nods. “No.”

“Okay.” He presses closer, brushing a kiss over Steve’s lips, barely there. “I won’t then.”

Steve makes a noise, and then he kisses Bucky. They’re close-mouthed and hungry until Bucky parts his lips on a quiet gasp and then Steve licks in between Bucky’s lips, catching his upper lip and sucking lightly. Bucky’s breath stutters out of him and he puts his hand against Steve’s jaw. Steve whimpers and opens up to Bucky, moaning as Bucky’s tongue slips between his lips.

Bucky groans and they fall into hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses, trading off control, heads tilting left and right for new angles, new sensation. 

“Oh fuck,” Steve breathes, shallow and desperate. “Bucky.”

“St-- _ow_. Motherfucker.” Bucky jerks away and reaches across his chest to rub his head with his hand. “Jesus Christ.”

Steve looks at Bucky then down at his cast that he’d just smacked Bucky in the head with. He blinks, pressing his lips together, then loses whatever control he has and starts laughing. 

“You’re _laughing_? At my _pain_?”

“I’m sorry. I just…” Steve waves his neon orange cast slightly. “I didn’t mean to?”

“You’re the one who goes looking for a fight, not me, buddy.” Bucky realizes what he’s said right as he says it, and he wishes he could rewind time in a way he hasn’t since he woke up without an arm and half his squad. “Oh shit.”

Steve’s smiling and he shakes his head. “I’m injured. You’ll have to just take that one for the team.” 

Reaching out with the arm not in a cast, Steve curves his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him back into a kiss. Bucky goes willingly as Steve licks the surfaces of his mouth -- tongue, palate, teeth. He moans and takes control, curving his hand around Steve’s neck as well, pulling him with him as he lies down on the bed.

Steve’s breath stutters and he arches toward Bucky. Bucky’s lying on his arm, and it’s not comfortable, but the thrust of Steve’s hips against his is more than. Even better when Steve pushes Bucky’s left shoulder and rolls him onto his back, then straddles him. 

“Fuck, yes,” Bucky breathes. He’s able to use his hand now, able to touch Steve, to slide his hand up and down his side, to feel the sharp jut of Steve’s hip bones, feel the bumps and ridges of his ribs. 

Steve’s braced above him, diving down for hot, short kisses, biting and sucking at Bucky’s tender and swollen lips. He wants to hold Steve down against him, but he can’t stop exploring, sliding his hand up Steve’s chest to his clavicle. He swipes his thumb against the line of the bone; then his hand curls around the back of Steve’s neck again, pulling him in for another kiss. He holds him there, fucking his tongue slowly into Steve’s mouth, and Steve grinds down against him, his cock hard and visible through the thin fabric of his boxers.

Steve whimpers into Bucky’s mouth, and fuck, Bucky wants his other arm back so he can hold Steve against him, so he can thrust up as he holds Steve’s hips down. Instead Steve slides his lower legs under Bucky’s thighs and rocks down and this time it’s Bucky’s turn to whimper.

“Hey! Anybody home? Steve? Barnes?” Sam’s voice is loud, obviously coming from the bottom of the stairs, which means they’d missed the sound of the door completely. “Rogers! You home?”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Steve croaks roughly. “Be right there!” He leans forward and presses his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. “Fuck.”

“You want me to duck out?” Bucky turns his head and kisses Steve’s hair. His heart seems to be beating even faster now, worried that if Steve says yes, if Bucky walks out his door and down the stairs to the alley, all of this will have been a dream, that everything will go back to the way it was.

“Yeah. Probably best.” Steve bites Bucky’s shoulder lightly, then turns his head to kiss his throat, scraping his teeth over the damp spot. Bucky shivers.

“You don’t stop that, I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky rests his hand in the small of Steve’s back, fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers. He presses down and rolls his hips up. Steve kisses his throat again, then moves up to Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s fingers slip under the elastic, the tip of his middle finger pressed to the crack of Steve’s ass.

“Oh god.” Steve’s hips rock and he grinds down against Bucky, then pushes up against his hand. “Oh fuck.”

“Rogers!”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Keep falling back to sleep. Gonna shower.” 

“Hurry your ass up. I brought food, and you’re gonna be stuck with ice-cold eggs if you don’t get down here.”

“Shower and I’ll be right down. Make coffee?” He kisses Bucky again, long and lingering. When he pulls back, his gaze is focused on Bucky. “I have to.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Bucky slips his hand free and lets it fall to the bed. Steve pulls away slowly, sitting up and putting pressure on Bucky’s cock again. He closes his eyes and squeezes Steve’s hip until Steve moves out of reach. 

He opens them when Steve gets off the bed and groans at the sight of the hard jut of Steve’s cock, tenting the front of his boxers enough that they’re pulled tight across Steve’s ass. Bucky grabs the box of Kleenex next to the bed, suddenly thankful for Steve’s compromised immune system.

“I’m gonna jerk off while you’re in the shower, because there’s literally no way I’m walking out of here if I don’t. If, you know, you want to think about that.”

Steve looks at him, and his pupils are dilated. He reaches down and rubs himself through his boxers. “Lube’s in the top drawer. I’ll be in there doing the same.” It’s clear Steve’s thinking the same thing Bucky is, that he could join him in the shower, but it’s equally obvious that he thinks it’s probably too much too soon. Bucky knows that, somewhere underneath the pulsing _want_ , he thinks it too.

“God, get out of here before I start.” Bucky reaches for the button of his jeans, because he hurts beneath the restrictive denim. Steve stares as Bucky slides his zipper down, then darts out of the room. 

It’s good because, if Bucky had two hands, he’d be stroking his cock before he even had his jeans pushed off.

**

Bucky leaves before Steve gets out of the shower, letting himself out through the alley. He heads home and showers and jerks off again before getting dressed for work and heading in. He no longer looks like he’s been making out with Steve, like he’d had Steve half-naked on top of him. 

He’s not sure how he’s going to _look_ at Steve without wanting to do it again. Now that he’s admitted he wants to, now that he’s had a taste of it, he’s not sure he wants to stop. 

“Barnes!” Sam calls out as Bucky comes into the bar. “Dude. You left your backpack here last night. It’s in the back.”

Right. Bucky had thrown his bag on one of the tables before he’d gone upstairs and completely failed to eat what he’d brought for him and Steve. “Thank goodness. I thought maybe I lost it on the bus yesterday.” He moves behind the counter and into the back room to grab a half-apron from the hooks beside the door. “Steve still sleeping?”

“Nah. He’s upstairs working on orders and the books. Sleeping and relaxing are things that confuse him.” Sam grins. “At least he’s sitting down though.”

“And they say miracles don’t happen.” He ties the apron on and starts prepping, throwing a maraschino cherry at Sam when he gives Bucky shit about not cutting up the limes. Bucky flips him off with a middle finger bathed in sugary syrup. “Tell you what, Wilson. You cut the limes one-handed and show me how it’s done.”

Sam laughs and nods at the syrup dripping off Bucky’s hand to the bar. “You’re cleaning that shit up.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky grabs a lime and throws it at Sam. He catches it and makes a face at the cherry syrup all over it. 

“You’re a bad man, I hope you know that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and finishes with the cherries, screwing the lid on as best he can before sliding it to Sam to have him make sure it’s all the way on. He cleans up the mess, then heads into the bar itself to start taking down chairs so he can wipe the tables again.

“I’m going to rip this thing off my arm!”

“Aw, c’mon,” Sam calls up the stairs to Steve. “You’re used to having an itch you can’t scratch.”

“Fuck you, Sam.” Steve closes the office door and comes downstairs, bumping Sam with his cast. Sam rolls his eyes. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Karaoke.” Bucky says it in the flattest voice he can manage, and has to press his lips together and will himself not to look up at Steve.

“Over my dead body.”

“Slam poetry night?” Sam asks.

“That’s more likely than karaoke.” Steve sprays water into a glass and sips from it. “Is it Scott’s band?” Just as he asks, Scott comes stumbling in carrying a guitar case and an amp.

“Dropping this off. Gotta take Cassie back to her mom’s. Be back soon.” He dashes out the door again and Steve nods.

“Answers that. That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“Fuck off, dad,” Sam tosses a lime at Steve and he catches it, grimacing.

“What the fuck is on this?”

“Ask your boy Barnes. It’s all on him.”

Steve takes another drink of water, sets his glass down and goes to the sink, setting up the bleach water for the tables and carrying it over so he can help Bucky with them. “I work with children.”

“Hey.” Sam puts his hands up. “You do all the hiring.” 

Steve shakes his head, going to one of the tables Bucky’s already cleared. They work together in relative silence as Sam sings and finishes the restock. Bucky keeps cutting glances in Steve’s direction, and he can’t help the small smile curving the corner of his mouth. 

Bucky finishes with the chairs and carries Scott’s guitar to the stage. Steve follows behind him with the amp, and the minute they’re out of sight of the bar, Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him closer. 

“Hi.”

Steve’s smile is a flash of brightness. “Hi.”

“This is going to be weird now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Little bit.” Steve bites his lower lip, and Bucky just stares as he does it. “A lot maybe.”

“Are we going to…” He gestures back toward the bar.

“Not yet.” Steve runs a finger along the collar of Bucky’s T-shirt. “Pretty sure we’re going to get a lot of ‘told you so’s and mocking. Thought maybe we could try it out for a while. See if it’s right. What we both want.”

“D’you want me to quit?”

“What? No!” Steve slides his hand up to press against Bucky’s throat. “No. I really don’t. I like having you here.”

“You’ll tell me if you change your mind?”

“Yeah. You’ll tell me if you do?”

“About working here?” Bucky asks.

“No.” Steve laughs softly, his eyes dropping to the floor. His voice is carefully controlled, the same kind of armor Bucky’s too used to seeing. “About me.”

“Not gonna happen. I mean, I already know you’re a bossy, stubborn, idiotic asshole.” Bucky grins at him as he uses his fingers to tilt Steve’s head up. “Haven’t gotten rid of me yet.”

“I have no idea why I like you.”

Bucky shrugs. “Me either, but at least it’s mutual.”

**

The night drags on. And on. 

And on.

They’re busy enough that it shouldn’t. Scott’s band is always a good draw, and the general mood of the bar is good. Steve even has to pitch in behind the bar to keep up with the demand.

But that means Bucky keeps having to dance around Steve when all he wants to do is be pressed against him, so the minutes and hours drag by. There are moments, though -- Steve smacking Sam with his cast and the sly grin he gives Bucky that lets him know Steve’s brain went exactly where Bucky’s did, and Steve knocking a bottle off the bar with his cast and Bucky catching it without spilling a drop. That one got a roar of approval from everyone at the bar and Bucky ended up taking bows for a full minute.

Finally it hits two, and everyone starts leaving. Sam looks from Bucky to Steve, then shakes his head. “Guess I’m cleaning the main room, since you’ve only got two hands between you.”

“Hey, the cast is a hand! I can balance things on it,” Steve says, then frowns. “Wait. Forget I said that. You do all the hard work.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head, heading toward the farthest tables. Steve starts counting the till. Bucky cleans the bartop and loads the dishwasher as Sam brings glasses over. It seems to take even longer than the rest of the night did, but eventually Sam and Bucky head out the door.

“You want a ride home?”

Bucky blinks at Sam. “Oh, no. Thanks. Clint’ll be here in a few.”

Sam shakes his head. “You hope, dude. Might as well wait inside for him. Who knows when he’ll show up.”

“You cool with that, Steve?”

“Knock yourself out. You’ve got your own key.” Steve waves his hand and heads for the stairs. “Night. See you idiots tomorrow.”

“Hey, I’m off tomorrow,” Sam reminds him. “Barnes is the only idiot you’ll see.”

Bucky locks the door behind Sam and stands there for a few minutes until he drives by. He waves and pulls the blinds on the doors and windows and takes a deep breath. He turns around and Steve’s standing at the top of the stairs. Bucky can’t quite read the expression on his face, but it looks like resignation. Like he doesn’t expect Bucky to want this anymore now that they’re alone.

Bucky starts toward the stairs and climbs them, not looking away from Steve. Steve bites his lower lip and then finally smiles as Bucky stops two steps down so they’re face to face. “Hi.”

Steve nods. “Hi.”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Please do.”

Bucky leans in, brushing his lips lightly over Steve’s. He keeps it up, slow and teasing until Steve’s lips part. Bucky tilts his head and flicks his tongue just inside of Steve’s mouth before he finally deepens the kiss. His fingers thread through Steve’s hair, scratching lightly at the back of his head. 

Steve whimpers softly and steps down so he can press against Bucky. Bucky bites Steve’s lower lip and pulls away. “Getting light-headed. Better move this to somewhere gravity isn’t working against us.”

“Yeah. My luck we’d fall down the stairs.” Steve licks his lips and grabs Bucky’s T-shirt as he walks backward up to the top of the stairs and through the office door. As soon as they’re on solid ground Bucky grabs the waistband of Steve’s jeans and pulls him flush against him.

They stop and Steve goes up on his toes and wraps his unbroken arm around Bucky’s neck. Bucky breaks the kiss and looks down at him. “Fuck, you look gorgeous like this.”

The flush of arousal on Steve’s face deepens and he shivers lightly. “Can… Can we just do this tonight? Wait until I have two working hands to go any further?”

“Sure, but just so you know, mine’s not growing back.” Steve laughs and, fuck, Bucky has to kiss him again. It’s quick, but intoxicating. “Yeah. Yeah. We can take it slow.”

“I kind of suck at slow for the record.”

“I’ll keep you honest.”

“Yeah?”

“No. Probably not.” 

Steve laughs again. “What do you say we take this into my apartment? Where we can sit on the couch and pretend the bed isn’t five feet away.”

Bucky nods and kisses him again, the slow start turning into something deeper. He backs Steve up against the office door. Steve turns the knob and they stumble a little. Steve’s laugh -- giggle really -- is muffled against Bucky’s mouth. Bucky smiles as he pulls back, breathing hard through his parted lips. 

“You’re a menace.”

“Mm.” Steve presses closer to kiss him again. “Since I was born.” 

“I have no trouble believing that.” Bucky settles his hand on Steve’s hips and guides him backward, barely missing running into the coffee table by steering Steve left at the last minute. Steve’s legs hit the couch, and he grabs Bucky’s shoulders with his hand to keep from falling. “Thanks for not clocking me in the head again.”

Steve goes up on his toes and bites Bucky’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth until Bucky whines. “Love tap.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Bucky puts one knee on the couch and leans over Steve as he sits on the couch and then stretches out. He puts his cast over his head and his free hand trails from Bucky’s shoulder to his waistband. Bucky groans and shakes his head. 

“What?” Steve asks breathlessly.

Bucky shakes his head again and settles his body over Steve’s before carefully sinking down onto his elbow. Steve spreads his legs and Bucky settles between them. “This is such a bad idea.”

“What’s that?” Steve asks, burying his face against Bucky’s throat, nuzzling up to the hinge of his jaw. 

“This. If we’re trying to go slow. Sitting. Sitting is more going slow.” 

“You’d rather have me straddle your lap?”

Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair and angles his head so he can kiss him. The hard pulse of want is tainted, tempered with the wish for his other arm, with the desire to slide it under Steve’s back and pull his body even closer. 

Steve arches up, like he’s reading Bucky’s mind, as he wraps a leg over both of Bucky’s. Their hips roll and Bucky deepens the kiss, tongue tracing all the surfaces of Steve’s mouth, tangling with Steve’s and sucking. 

Steve wriggles beneath him, and Bucky gasps. Moments later Steve’s other leg works around him and he’s thrusting up against Bucky, using the pressure and resistance of his grip on Bucky’s calves for leverage. 

Steve moans and his head falls back. Bucky sucks a row of kisses down his pale throat, scraping his teeth over the light marks he leaves. Steve grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair, keeping him there, whimpering as he rocks up faster and harder. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” 

Bucky bites and sucks this time and Steve’s whole body jerks. Bucky whines against Steve’s neck as Steve releases his hair, but then his hand is between them, and he’s undoing Bucky’s jeans, undoing his own. He fumbles to shove them down Bucky’s hips and then his own, and then his hand is inside Bucky’s boxer briefs, curling around Bucky’s dick.

“St-Steve. Fuck.” His knees dig into the sofa cushions and he kisses Steve hard. “T-this isn’t sl-slow.”

“You wanna stop?” Steve tightens his grip and swipes his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock.

“No. Fuck. God. D-Don’t.” Bucky’s breath hitches and he’s so close, so fucking close. His hand tangles in Steve’s hair and he kisses him again, breathing nothing but Steve as he thrusts into the tight ring of Steve’s fist. “Steve. O-oh.” 

Bucky comes, hips jerking, and he buries his face against Steve’s neck. He can taste the sweat on Steve’s throat against his lips. Steve shivers and his hand tightens on Bucky’s cock, and Bucky trembles all over. 

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs. “It’s good. Just breathe.”

Bucky lets out a shaky laugh “Gi-gimme a minute and I’ll…” He can’t think well enough to completely the thought. Steve releases him and Bucky whines deep in his throat. He tries to lift himself up onto his hand, but his muscles quiver and he doesn’t have the strength. Instead he just rolls off Steve. 

Onto the floor. 

“Ow. Fuck.” He lays his hand on his stomach and exhales slowly. “Being with you is dangerous.” 

Steve sits up and Bucky turns his head to look at him. Steve’s pants are barely down his thighs, but the head of his cock is red and slick where it pokes out of the top of his boxer briefs. He slumps back against the back of the couch, and the smear of Bucky’s come starts a slow trail down Steve’s stomach, some of it already lipping across Steve’s dick.

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky moans as he rolls onto his arm and uses it as leverage to sit up. He kicks off his jeans and boxers and then crawls between Steve’s spread legs. Between his hand and Steve’s the manage to get his jeans and boxer briefs down as well and Bucky doesn't think, can’t think. He just licks the length of Steve’s cock and sucks him between his lips, tasting himself and Steve all at once.

He wraps his arm around Steve’s waist, his weight on Steve’s thighs as he swallows around him. Steve’s hard and heavy on his tongue, the taste of them together at the back of his throat. Steve arches his back and he reaches out for Bucky’s hair with both hands, only Bucky’s hum stopping him from smacking him in the head again.

Steve huffs out a laugh and lets the cast fall to his side. Bucky hums again, his version of a laugh. Steve’s body jerks at the feeling, and his body tenses under Bucky’s. Bucky pulls back until just the head of Steve’s cock is in his mouth and sucks harder, holding him between his tongue and soft palate.

Steve comes silently, his body arching more, bowstring tight. He lets go of Bucky’s hair and digs his nails into his thighs. His hands fall away as he slumps back onto the couch and, when he pulls away, Bucky can see the bright red crescents. 

He sits back on his heels and looks up at Steve. They’re both a mess, flushed and sweaty, mouths swollen and red. There’s a faint line of purple on Steve’s throat, trailing down until it reaches the hard red spot outlined by Bucky’s teeth marks,

“We…” Steve takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly. “We suck at slow.”

Bucky smirks. “Not what I was sucking.”

“Oh my god.” Steve kicks Bucky’s thigh. “You’re the worst.”

“Probably.” Bucky leans up and grabs Steve’s shirt, tugging him in for a kiss. “I really did mean to go slow.”

“So did I.” Steve traces Bucky’s lower lip. “But I’m not complaining.”

Bucky turns a little to kiss the pad of Steve’s thumb. “I should probably…” He points at the door, tilting his head when Steve pulls away with a frown. 

“What?”

“Go.”

“You should go?”

Bucky tries to read Steve’s expression. He can’t quite, but he’s pretty sure he said something really, really wrong. “I shouldn’t?”

“You need to do whatever you think’s best.” Steve stands and maneuvers around Bucky, tugging his pants up as he goes. 

“I figured you didn’t want anyone to know about us. The guys at the bar.”

“You thought I didn’t want that? Or you don’t want it? It’s fine.” Steve goes into the kitchenette and fills a glass of water from the tap before drinking it down in four quick swallows. “You won’t be the first. You won’t be the last.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bucky stands up and gathers his clothes then sits down on his couch to begin the slow process of tugging on his boxer briefs. “The first or last what?”

“Nothing.” Steve’s back is ramrod straight, his head bowed as he stares into the sink.

“Oh my god. You’re kidding me, right?” Bucky stands up and tugs his briefs on the rest of the way. He steps over his pants and goes to the kitchen, grabbing Steve’s arm and making him turn around. “What? You think this was some sort of pity fuck? Is that what I’m supposed to think? You’re taking pity on the one-armed basket case and making him feel good about himself? Fuck you, Steve.”

“That’s not…”

“That’s _exactly_ what you’re thinking. God, you’re such a fucking asshole.” He grabs his pants and walks out into the office, slamming the door behind him. “Just stay there because I have to put on my pants before I storm out, so… Just fuck you.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and it takes longer than normal for Bucky to get dressed because his hands are shaking and he’s light-headed with anger and the remnants of what came before all that. Eventually he gets his pants on and doesn’t even remember what he did with his shoes. He doesn’t care. He goes downstairs and leaves the bar, walking home barefoot.

**

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” It’s nearly a week later, and Bucky hasn’t said a word to Steve. But right now Sam’s the one yelling at him. “I thought we were past this. Jesus Christ, you two are like toddlers.”

“What?”

“You! Rogers! You guys were _fine_ and now you’re walking around like someone pissed in your cornflakes. _Steve!_ Get you skinny, white ass down here!”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, do not make me evoke your sainted Irish mother or call my mom in Harlem, because I am not afraid to do either one of those things.”

“ _I’m_ the boss of _you.” Steve stomps down the stairs. His arm looks even paler than normal, the skin wrinkled from where he got his cast removed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”_

“Get your fucking ass down here.”

Steve grumbles the entire way down and stops in front of Sam, arms crossed and expression murderous. “ _What_?”

“Tell Barnes you’re sorry.”

“For what?”

“Whatever the fuck you did. And Barnes, don’t think you’re getting out of this. You both need to get over yourselves and kiss and make-u…” Sam’s eyes widen. “Oh, holy shit. _Shit_. Luke!”

Luke comes out of the back room carrying a box of Red Bulls on one shoulder. “What are you screaming about, Wilson?”

“They fucked.”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Huh. That explains it.”

“We did not!”

Bucky ignores Steve. “Explains what?”

“Let me guess, this one.” Sam points at Steve. “Got all weird and defensive. Wanted to hide this from us.”

“No! I thought he wanted to!”

Steve turns his glare from Sam to Bucky. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky crosses his arm over his chest. It lacks the defensiveness and defensive capability of two arms, and it just serves to piss him off. “I thought you’d want to keep it a secret. I wasn’t going to stay, because I would have had to wear the same clothes the next day and they would know that we…”

“Oh my god.” Sam grabs the sides of his head and shakes it, then reaches out and grabs Bucky’s upper arm. “C’mon.”

“What?” Bucky stumbles after him as Sam heads into the back room. Sam ignores him and looks at Luke who rolls his eyes and grabs Steve around the waist and slings him over his shoulder. “Let me go, Sam.”

“In.” He shoves Bucky into the liquor storeroom. Bucky starts forward but then Luke sets a kicking and yelling Steve down. He turns Steve around, shoves him in after Bucky, then slams the door closed. 

The lock clicks and Sam’s voice comes through the wood. “Figure it out. And you only have until nine, because we’ve got a bachelorette party coming in.” 

“Sam Wilson I am going to _fire_ you. You _are_ fired. Both of you. Let me the fuck out of here.” He turns and glares at Bucky. “You were a soldier. Get us out of here.”

“You were a master tactician. You figure out how to get out of here.” Bucky leans against a rack of shelves. 

Steve’s eyes widen and he punches the door. “Goddammit, Sam!” He kicks the door and turns his back to it, cradling his hand against his chest as he slides down to the floor..

“You broke your hand, didn’t you?”

“No.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Really?”

“Just hurts.”

Bucky exhales and chews on his lower lip. He watches Steve through his lashes, his own hand flexing as Steve clenches and unclenches his fist and winces. Straightening, Bucky walks over and sinks down next to Steve. “Let me see.”

Steve glances at him quickly, then holds out his hand. Bucky takes it in his and uses his thumb to rub the palm first and then out to the fingers. Steve hisses a few times, but eventually the tension in his shoulders and face relaxes. Bucky opens his grip and Steve eases his hand away. “Thanks.”

Bucky nods and rubs his hand on his thigh. “I thought maybe you didn’t want people to know about us. With work and all.”

Steve turns his head to the side so he can look at Bucky. “I thought you were embarrassed. Or ashamed. That you… That you realized I was good for one thing at least.”

“Please tell me you did not think that. Do you know me at all?”

“You said it yourself when you first started. How could anyone…” He shrugs. “I know what I look like. I know what I’m like to be around. Sometimes I wonder why anyone puts up with me.”

“Steve.” Bucky turns so he’s facing Steve’s side. “Hey.” He reaches out and touches Steve’s jaw. “I said all those things because I was angry and hurt and hated to have to ask for what I thought was charity. I wasn’t a very nice person when we met either. And, yeah, you’re infuriating and impossible and stubborn, but I like you. A lot. And what we did? I did because I wanted to. Because I wanted you. Want you.”

“I don’t care if people know about us. My friends are here in this bar. My family. And they already love you. I mean, you’ll still get the shovel talk from about five people, but you’re part of us.” Steve sighs, then turns his head and kisses Bucky’s wrist. “And I want you too. Like you too. And, maybe we could learn how to talk instead of assume shit and yell at each other.”

“Why would you be able to learn that at this point in your life?”

Steve’s mouth opens to say something, then what Bucky said must click. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah. That’s not going to change.”

Steve moves and straddles Bucky’s thighs and looks him in the eye. “I’m glad. Because you’re right, I’m probably not going to change either.” 

“Eh. You might be worth it.”

“Remind me to give Clint a free beer for sending your sorry ass to me.” Steve leans in and kisses him softly. “And maybe this time actually take it slow?”

“Really?”

Steve laughs and frames Bucky’s face with both hands, his fingers threading into his hair. “No.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Steve's in Trouble](https://www.deviantart.com/hillandclark/art/Stucky-BB-2018-Steve-s-in-trouble-787927616)   
>  [Feelings Changed](https://www.deviantart.com/hillandclark/art/Stucky-BB-2018-feelings-changed-787929382)   
>  [Unexpected Perspectives](https://www.deviantart.com/hillandclark/art/Stucky-BB-2018-unexpected-perspectives-787930318)   
>  [Star of David](https://www.deviantart.com/hillandclark/art/Stucky-BB-2018-Star-of-David-787930924)   
>  [Be Honest with Your Feelings](https://www.deviantart.com/hillandclark/art/Stucky-BB-2018-be-honest-with-your-feelings-787931527)   
>  [Happy Ending](https://www.deviantart.com/hillandclark/art/Stucky-BB-2018-Happy-ending-787931910)


End file.
